THE 


WEB 


ANTHONY  PARTRIDGE 


THE   GOLDEN  WEB 


CALIF.  L1BKAIU.  LOS 


He  held  the  telegram  in  front  of  her  face.      "  Read,"  he  said. 

FRONTISPIECE,      Seeayt  \-2l 


THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

BY 

ANTHONY  PARTRIDGE 

Author  of«Passen-By,"  "The  Kingdom  of  Earth" 
" The  Distributors"  etc. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 
WILLIAM    KIRKPATRICK 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,   BROWN,   AND   COMPANY 
1911 


Copyright,  /pop,  7p/l, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published,  January,  1911 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK   ONE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  A  LIFE  FOR  SALE 1 

II  THE  PURCHASE 9 

III  A  FAMILY  AFFAIR 16 

IV  A  MURDER 22 

V  A  DEBT  INCURRED 30 

VI  AN  IMPERIOUS  DEMAND 36 

VII  LOVE  OR  INTEREST? 43 

VIII  AN  AWFUL  EESPONSIBILITY 49 

IX  WINIFRED  ROWAN 55 

X  AT  THE  THEATRE 65 

XI  AN  APPEAL 75 

XII  EUBY  SINCLAIR 82 

XIII  AN  INFORMAL  TEA-PARTY 94 

XIV  AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR 104 

XV  THE  EFFECT  OF  A  STORM 110 

XVI  A  REPRIEVE 117 

XVII  A  NEW  DANGER 127 

XVIII  AN  EXPENSIVE  KEY 136 

XIX  THE  SEARCH , 146 

XX  IN  DOUBT 153 

XXI  RUBY  is  DISAPPOINTED  159 


2132222 


vi  CONTENTS 

BOOK   TWO 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    FREE  TO  DIE 171 

II    A  LAPSE  OF  MEMORY 178 

III  A  PAINFUL  INTERVIEW 187 

IV  A  QUESTION 194 

V    MUTUAL  INFORMATION 199 

VI    AN  OPPORTUNE  ARRIVAL 209 

VII    HEFFEROM  is  OPTIMISTIC 217 

VIII    A  BOLD  MOVE 225 

IX    LORD  NUNNELEY  is  FRANK 232 

X    A  BROKEN  ENGAGEMENT 242 

XI    BITTER  WORDS 247 

XII    A  STRANGE  BETROTHAL 255 

XIII  DESPERATION 262 

XIV  AN  AFTERNOON'S  SHOPPING 269 

XV    A  FRIEND 279 

XVI    PASSION 287 

XVII    A  DESPAIRING  CALL 294 

XVIII    WINIFRED  is  TRAPPED 304 

XIX    Miss  SINCLAIR'S  OFFER 312 

XX    THROUGH  THE  MILL 323 

XXI  ALL  AS  IT  SHOULD  BE  .  331 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

He  held  the  telegram  in  front  of  her  face.    "  Read," 

he  said Frontispiece 

Lady  Olive  came  slowly  forward  to  meet  him     Page  32 

"  There  was  some  matter  which  you  wished  to 

discuss,  then?"  Deane  asked „     232 

"  I  hate  him  !  "  she  declared  to  herself.    "  I 

hate  him  now  more  than  ever !".     .    .     .      „    290 


THE    GOLDEN   WEB 

BOOK    ONE 
CHAPTER   I 

A    LIFE    FOR    SALE 

THE  contrast  in  personal  appearance  between  the 
two  men,  having  regard  to  their  relative  positions, 
was  a  significant  thing.  The  caller,  who  had  just  been 
summoned  from  the  waiting-room,  and  was  standing 
before  the  other's  table,  hat  in  hand,  a  little  shabby, 
with  ill-brushed  hair  and  doubtful  collar,  bore  in  his 
countenance  many  traces  of  the  wild  and  irregular  life 
which  had  reduced  him  at  this  moment  to  the  position 
of  suppliant.  His  complexion  was  pale  almost  to  ghast- 
liness,  and  in  his  deep-set,  sunken  eyes  there  was  more 
than  a  suggestion  of  recklessness.  He  was  so  nervous 
that  his  face  twitched  as  he  stood  there  waiting,  and  the 
fingers  which  held  his  hat  trembled.  His  lips  were  a 
little  parted,  his  breathing  was  scarcely  healthy.  There 
was  something  about  his  whole  appearance  indicative 
of  failure.  The  writing  upon  his  forehead  was  the  writ- 
ing of  despair. 


2  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

The  man  before  whom  he  stood  was  of  an  altogether 
different  type.  His  features  were  strong  and  regular, 
his  complexion  slightly  bronzed,  as  though  from  ex- 
posure to  the  sun  and  wind.  He  had  closely-cropped 
black  hair,  keen  gray  eyes,  and  a  determined  chin.  He 
sat  before  a  table  on  which  were  all  the  modern  appurte- 
nances of  a  business  man  in  close  touch  with  passing 
events.  A  telephone  was  at  his  elbow,  his  secretary  was 
busy  at  a  smaller  table  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  a  typist 
was  waiting  respectfully  in  the  background.  His  con- 
fidential clerk  was  leaning  over  his  chair,  notebook  in 
hand,  receiving  in  a  few  terse  sentences  instructions  for 
the  morrow's  operations.  Stirling  Deane,  although  he 
was  barely  forty  years  old,  was  at  the  head  of  a  great 
mining  corporation.  He  had  been  the  one  man  selected 
for  the  position  when  the  most  important  and  far-reach- 
ing amalgamation  of  recent  days  had  taken  place.  And 
this  although  he  came  of  a  family  whose  devotion  to 
business  had  always  been  blended  with  a  singular  apti- 
tude for  and  preeminence  in  sports.  Dearie  himself, 
until  the  last  few  years,  had  played  cricket  for  his 
county,  had  hunted  two  days  a  week,  and  had  by  no 
means  shown  that  whole-hearted  passion  for  money-mak- 
ing which  was  rife  enough  in  the  circles  amid  which 
he  moved. 

He  wound  up  his  instructions,  and  dismissed  his  clerk 


A  LIFE  FOR  SALE  3 

with  a  few  curt  and  final  words.  Then  he  turned  round 
in  his  chair  and  faced  his  visitor. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you,  Rowan,"  he  said.  "This 
is  always  rather  a  busy  day  in  the  city,  and  a  busy  time." 

His  visitor,  who  had  been  waiting  for  an  hour  in  an 
ante-room,  and  was  then  esteemed  fortunate  to  be  ac- 
corded an  interview,  looked  around  him  with  a  little 
smile. 

"So  you've  prospered,  Deane,"  he  said. 

"Naturally,"  the  other  answered.  "I  always  meant 
to.  And  you,  Rowan?" 

The  visitor  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  tried  many  things," 
he  said;  "all  failures,  —  disposition  or  luck,  I  suppose. 
What  is  it,  I  wonder,  that  keeps  some  men  down  while 
others  climb?" 

Deane  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Disposition,"  he 
said,  "  is  only  an  appendage,  and  luck  does  n't  exist.  In 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  if  a  man's  will  is  strong  enough, 
he  climbs." 

Rowan  nodded  gloomily.  "Perhaps  that's  it,"  he 
assented.  "I  never  had  any  will,  or  if  I  had,  it  didn't 
seem  worth  while  to  use  it." 

"Take  a  seat,"  said  Deane.  "You  don't  look  fit  to 
stand.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  We  shall  be  interrupted 
in  a  few  moments." 

"I  want  something  to  do,"  Rowan  said. 


4  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

"I  can't  give  it  to  you,"  answered  Deane,  firmly  but 
not  unkindly. 

"You  don't  beat  about  the  bush,"  the  other  declared, 
with  a  hard  little  laugh. 

"Why  should  I?"  Deane  asked.  "It  would  only 
waste  our  time,  and  be,  after  all,  a  mistaken  kindness. 
There  is  n't  a  man  about  my  place  who  has  n't  grown 
up  under  my  own  personal  observation.  It's  an  im- 
portant business  this,  Rowan.  I  dare  n't  risk  a  single 
weak  link.  To  be  frank  with  you,  —  and  you  see  I  am 
being  frank,  —  I  'd  sooner  pay  your  salary  than  have  you 
here." 

"Give  me  a  letter  to  someone  else,  then,"  Rowan 
begged.  "I'm  just  back  from  Africa,  broken." 

"I  can't  do  that,"  Deane  answered.  "I  know  you 
well.  I  like  you.  We  have  been  friends.  We  have  been 
together  in  difficulties.  More  than  once  you  have  been 
in  a  way  useful  to  me.  I  have  every  disposition  to  serve 
you.  But  you  were  never  made  for  business,  or  any  form 
of  regular  work.  I  would  not  offer  you  a  place  in  my 
own  office,  and  I  cannot  pass  you  on  to  my  friends.  What 
else  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Rowan  looked  into  his  hat,  and  laughed  a  little  bit- 
terly. "What  the  devil  else  is  there  anyone  can  do  for 
me?"  he  demanded. 

"I  can  lend  you  some  money,"  Deane  said  shortly. 


A  LIFE   FOR  SALE  5 

"I  shall  take  it,"  Rowan  answered;  "but  it  will  be 
spent  pretty  soon,  and  I  doubt  whether  you'll  ever  get 
it  back.  I  want  a  chance  to  make  a  fresh  start." 

Deane  shook  his  head.  "I  can't  help  you,"  he  said,  — 
"not  in  that  sort  of  way,  at  any  rate.  If  you  wanted  to 
settle  down  in  the  country,  I'd  try  and  find  you  a  place 
there." 

"No  good,"  Rowan  answered.  "I  want  to  make 
money,  and  I  want  to  make  it  quick." 

The  telephone  bell  rang,  and  Deane  was  busy  for  several 
moments  answering  questions  and  giving  instructions. 
Then  he  turned  once  more  to  his  visitor. 

"Rowan,"  he  said,  "you  talk  like  all  the  others  who 
come  down  into  the  city  expecting  to  find  it  a  sort  of 
Eldorado.  I  can  do  nothing  for  you.  How  much  money 
shall  I  lend  you  ?  Stop ! "  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 
"I  don't  want  to  seem  unkind,  but  I  am  a  busy  man.  I 
don't  want  to  lend  you  ten  pounds  to-day,  and  have  you 
come  and  borrow  another  ten  pounds  next  week,  and 
another  the  week  after.  You  and  I  went  through  some 
rough  times  together.  We  've  heard  the  bullets  sing. 
We  've  known  what  a  licking  was  like,  and  we  've  shouted 
ourselves  hoarse  with  joy  when  the  good  time  came.  I 
don't  forget  these  things,  man.  I  don't  want  you  for 
a  moment  to  believe  that  I  have  forgotten  them.  Ask 
me  for  any  reasonable  sum,  and  I'll  give  it  you.  But 


6  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

afterwards  we  shake  hands  and  part,  at  any  rate  so  far 
as  the  city  is  concerned.  You  understand?" 

Rowan  leaned  forward  in  his  chair.  He  wetted  his  dry 
lips  nervously  with  his  tongue.  The  look  of  ill-health  in 
his  features  was  almost  painfully  manifest.  The  writing 
which  it  is  not  possible  to  mistake  was  on  his  face. 

"Look  here,  Deane,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "don't  think 
I  am  ungrateful.  You've  put  the  matter  straight  to  me 
like  a  man,  and,  if  needs  be,  I  '11  ask  you  for  a  good  round 
sum  and  go,  and  I'll  take  my  oath  you'll  never  see  me 
again.  But  listen.  I  am  in  a  bad  way.  I  was  in  the 
hospital  last  week,  and  they  told  me  a  few  things." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Deane.  "You  shall  go  away  and 
recuperate.  When  you're  feeling  stronger  you  can  think 
about  some  work." 

Rowan  shook  his  head.  "That  is  n't  it,"  he  said. 
"I'm  a  sick  man,  but  I'm  not  that  kind  of  invalid. 
I  have  somewhere  about  twelve  months  to  live  —  no 
more.  I  want,  somehow  or  other,  before  I  die,  to  make 
a  little  money.  I  don't  want  a  fortune  —  nothing  of  that 
sort  —  but  I  want  to  make  just  a  little." 

"You  have  a  wife?"  Deane  asked  quietly. 

Rowan  shook  his  head.  "A  sister.  Poor  little  girl, 
she's  wearing  herself  out  typing  in  an  office,  and  I  can't 
bear  the  thought  of  leaving  her  all  alone  with  nothing  to 
fall  back  upon." 


A  LIFE   FOR  SALE  7 

Deane  drummed  with  his  fingers  upon  the  table.  His 
manner  was  not  unsympathetic,  but  betrayed  the  slight 
impatience  of  a  man  of  affairs  discussing  an  unpractical 
subject  with  an  unpractical  person. 

"My  dear  Rowan,"  he  said,  "don't  you  see  that  your 
very  illness  makes  it  absurd  to  imagine  that  you  can  take 
a  position  and  save  any  amount  of  money  worth  mention- 
ing in  it,  in  twelve  months  ?  The  idea  is  absurd." 

"I  suppose  it  sounds  so,"  Rowan  admitted.  "But 
listen,  Deane.  You  know  I  have  many  weak  points,  but 
I  am  not  a  coward.  I  like  big  risks,  and  I  am  always 
willing  to  take  them.  The  doctor  gives  me  twelve  months 
—  that  means,  I  suppose,  about  seven  months  during 
which  I  shall  be  able  to  get  about,  and  five  months  of  slow 
torture  in  a  hospital.  I  mention  this  again  so  that  you 
can  understand  exactly  how  much  I  value  my  life.  Is  n't 
there  any  work  you  could  put  me  on  to  where  the  risk 
was  great  —  the  greater  the  better  —  but  if  I  succeeded 
I  could  make  a  reasonable  sum  of  money?  Think!" 

Deane  shook  his  head.  "My  dear  Rowan,"  he  said, 
"we  are  not  in  Africa  now,  you  know.  We  are  in  a  civil- 
ized city,  where  life  and  death  have  no  other  than  their 
own  intrinsic  worth." 

"You  are  sure?"  persisted  Rowan.  "I  don't  mind 
what  I  do,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone.  "I've  lived  in 
wild  countries,  and  I've  lived  a  wild  life.  My  conscience 


8  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

is  elastic  enough.  I'd  take  on  anything  in  the  world 
which  meant  money.  You  have  great  interests  under 
your  control.  You  must  have  enemies.  Sometimes 
there  are  enterprises  into  which  a  man  in  your  position 
would  enter  willingly  enough  if  he  could  find  a  partner 
who  would  be  as  silent  as  the  grave,  and  who  would  ri^k 
everything  —  I  mean  that  —  not  only  his  life,  but  every- 
thing, on  the  chance  of  success." 

Deane  shook  his  head  slowly,  and  then  stopped.  A 
sudden  change  came  into  his  face.  He  had  the  air  of  a 
man  absorbed  with  an  unexpected  thought.  A  flickering 
ray  of  sunshine  had  come  struggling  through  the  dusty 
window  from  the  court  outside.  It  found  its  way  across 
Deane's  desk,  with  its  piles  of  papers  and  documents. 
It  rested  for  a  moment  upon  his  dark,  thoughtful  face. 
Rowan  watched  him  eagerly.  Was  it  his  fancy,  or  was 
there  indeed  a  shadow  there  greater  than  the  responsi- 
bilities of  his  position  might  warrant  ? 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    PURCHASE 

DEANE  looked  across  the  room  towards  his  secre- 
tary. "Give  me  five  minutes  alone,  Ellison,"  he 
said,  —  "you  and  Miss  Ansell  there.  See  that  I  am  not 
interrupted."  • 

The  young  man  got  up  at  once  and  left  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  the  typist.  Deane  waited  until  the  door  was 
closed.  Then  he  turned  once  more  to  his  visitor. 

"Listen,  Rowan,"  he  said.  "Do  I  understand  you 
rightly?  Do  you  mean  that  you  would  be  willing  to  un- 
dertake a  commission  which  you  would  certainly  find 
unpleasant,  and  perhaps  dangerous?" 

"I  do  mean  that,"  Rowan  declared,  beating  the  palm  of 
one  hand  with  his  clenched  fist.  "I  am  a  desperate  man. 
I  have  no  time  for  long  service,  for  industry,  for  persever- 
ance, for  any  form  of  success  which  is  to  be  won  by  ortho- 
dox means.  I  am  like  a  man  who  has  mortgaged  every 
farthing  he  has  in  the  world  to  take  a  thirty-five  to  one 
chance  on  a  number.  Don't  you  understand?  I  want 
money,  and  I  can't  wait.  I  have  n't  time.  Give  me  a 
chance  of  something  big.  Remember  what  I  have  told 


10  THE   GOLDEN   WEB 

you.    Twelve  months  of  suffering  life  is  worth  little  enough 

in  the  balance." 

"You  misunderstand  me  a  little,"  Deane  said  slowly. 
"What  I  am  going  to  suggest  to  you  may  seem  difficult 
enough,  and,  under  the  circumstances,  unpleasant,  but 
there  is  no  actual  risk  —  at  least,"  he  corrected  himself, 
"there  should  be  none." 

Rowan  laughed  scornfully.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  don't 
pick  your  words  so  carefully,"  he  begged.  "If  the  thing 
is  big  enough,  I  am  not  afraid.  If  it  is  dishonest,  say  so. 
I  am  not  a  pickpocket,  but  I  am  past  scruples." 

Once  more  Deane  was  silent  for  several  moments.  It 
was  a  chance,  this,  —  just  a  chance.  He  looked  out  of  the 
window,  and  he  seemed  to  see  in  swift  panorama  all  the 
splendid  details  of  his  rise  to  power.  He  saw  himself  as 
the  central  figure  of  that  panorama  —  respected,  honored, 
envied,  wherever  he  went,  east  or  west.  It  was  a  life,  his, 
for  a  man  to  be  proud  of.  There  was  no  one  who  had  a 
word  to  say  against  him,  —  no  one  who  did  not  envy  him 
his  rapid  climb  up  the  great  ladder.  He  carried  power  in 
both  hands,  so  that  when  he  moved  even  amongst  the 
great  people  of  the  world  a  place  was  found  for  him.  He 
realized  in  that  one  moment  what  it  might  mean  to  lose 
these  things,  and  he  drew  a  little  breath.  He  must  fight 
to  the  end,  make  use  of  any  means  that  came  to  his  hand. 
It  was  a  chance  this,  only  a  chance,  but  he  would  take  it  I 


THE   PURCHASE  11 

"Listen,  Rowan,"  he  said,  turning  once  more  to  the 
man  who  had  been  watching  him  so  eagerly,  "I  am  taking 
you  at  your  word.  I  am  believing  that  you  mean  exactly 
what  you  say." 

"God  knows  I  do!"  Rowan  muttered. 

"Very  well,  then,"  Deane  continued,  "I  want  you  to 
understand  this.  The  company  of  which  I  am  managing 
director  owns,  as  you  may  have  heard,  the  greatest  gold- 
fields  in  the  world.  Our  chief  possession,  though,  is  the 
Little  Anna  Gold-Mine,  which  was  once,  as  you  may  have 
heard,  my  property,  and  for  which  the  corporation  paid 
me  a  very  large  sum  of  money.  Did  you  ever  hear  any- 
thing of  the  history  of  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine, 
Rowan?" 

Rowan  nodded.  "It  was  a  deserted  claim  which  you 
and  some  others  had  a  shy  at.  Dick  Murray  was  one  of 
them.  That  brute  Sinclair  put  you  on  to  it." 

Deane  nodded.  "You  have  spoken  the  truth,  Rowan," 
he  said.  "It  was  a  deserted  claim.  Four  of  us  took  pos- 
session, but  the  other  three  never  knew  what  I  knew.  I 
bought  up  their  shares  one  by  one.  I  won't  go  into  the 
matter  of  law  now.  I  simply  want  you  to  understand  this. 
The  mine  grew  and  prospered.  What  it  has  become  you 
know.  I  sold  it  to  this  corporation,  as  I  wished  to  have  no 
outside  interests,  and  the  price  paid  me  was  close  upon  a 
million  sterling.  Three  days  ago,  in  this  room,  the  man 


12  THE   GOLDEN   WEB 

whom  you  have  just  spoken  of  —  Richard  Sinclair  —  pro- 
duced documents,  and  tried  to  convince  me  that  he  was 
the  real  owner  of  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine,  that  it 
had  never  been  deserted,  and  that  our  taking  possession 
of  it  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  an  illegal  jump." 

Rowan  was  plainly  amazed.  "But  it  was  Sinclair,"  he 
exclaimed,  "who  gave  you  the  tip." 

Deane  nodded.  "That,"  he  said,  "may  have  been  part 
of  his  scheme.  He  had  n't  the  money  or  the  patience  to 
work  it  himself,  and  it  may  have  occurred  to  him  that  if 
he  could  get  someone  else  to  do  all  the  work,  believing  that 
they  had  acquired  the  mine,  it  might  be  worth  his  claiming 
afterwards.  I  have  weighed  it  all  up,"  Deane  continued. 
"I  have  been  to  some  mining  lawyers,  and  I  have  spent  a 
small  fortune  in  cabling  to  the  Cape.  The  conclusion  I 
have  come  to  is  this.  If  Sinclair  prosecutes  his  claim  — 
and  he  means  business  —  and  goes  to  law,  there  is  just  a 
reasonable  chance  that  he  might  win." 

"A  reasonable  chance,"  Rowan  repeated. 

" It  is  n't  only  that,  though,"  continued  Deane.  "There 
are  other  things  to  be  taken  into  consideration.  We  don't 
want  a  lawsuit.  Several  of  our  smaller  mines  are  doing 
rather  badly  just  now,  and  we  have  been  spending  an 
immense  amount  of  money  upon  developments.  Any 
suspicion  as  to  the  validity  of  our  title  to  the  Little  Anna 
Mine  would  be  simply  disastrous  at  the  present  moment. 


THE   PURCHASE  13 

Our  shares  would  have  a  tremendous  drop,  just  at  the 
time  when  we  are  least  prepared  for  it." 

"Where  do  I  come  in?"  Rowan  asked  quietly. 

"Sinclair,"  Deane  said,  "has  only  been  in  the  country 
three  days.  He  has  no  friends,  he  drinks  most  of  the  day, 
and  he  is  staying  at  the  Universal  Hotel,  where  I  imagine 
that  he  spends  most  of  his  time  at  the  American  bar.  Now 
I  can't  treat  with  the  fellow,  Rowan.  That 's  the  trouble. 
If  I  were  to  show  the  least  sign  of  weakness,  the  game 
would  be  up.  My  only  chance  was  bluff.  I  laughed  in 
his  face  and  turned  him  out  of  the  office.  But  bluff  does  n't 
alter  facts.  You  and  he  are  old  acquaintances.  I  know 
very  well  that  you  never  hit  it  off  together,  although  I 
never  knew  what  was  the  cause  of  your  quarrel.  How- 
ever, there  's  nothing  to  prevent  your  going  to  see  him. 
He  's  in  that  sort  of  maudlin  state  when  he  'd  welcome 
anybody  who  'd  drink  with  him  and  let  him  talk.  That 
is  where  you  come  in,  Rowan.  You  can  drink  with  him, 
and  listen.  Find  out  whether  this  is  a  put-up  thing  or 
whether  he  believes  in  it." 

Rowan  nodded.  "Anything  else?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
tone. 

"There  is  no  reason,"  Deane  continued,  "why  you 
should  not,  if  he  gets  confidential,  open  up  negotiations  on 
your  own  account." 

"He  has  some  documents,  I  suppose?"  Rowan  asked. 


14  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

"  His  claim  to  our  mine,"  Deane  answered,  "  is  contained 
in  a  single  paper,  which  he  told  me  never  left  his  person. 
You  were  a  lawyer  once,  Rowan.  You  know  how  to  argue, 
to  handle  facts,  to  make  a  bargain.  The  return  of  that 
document  to  me  would  be  worth  ten  thousand  pounds." 

Rowan's  breathing  seemed  suddenly  to  have  become 
worse.  His  lips  were  parted,  there  was  a  strange  glitter 
in  his  eyes.  "Ten  thousand  pounds!"  he  muttered. 

"It  is  a  great  deal  of  money,  I  know,"  Deane  said,  "but 
understand  this,  Rowan,  once  and  for  all.  If  this  enter- 
prise appeals  to  you,  you  must  undertake  it  absolutely  and 
entirely  at  your  own  risk.  Above  all  things,  it  is  impor- 
tant that  neither  Sinclair  nor  anyone  else  in  the  world 
should  ever  dream  that  I  had  been  behind  any  offer  you 
might  make,  or  any  course  of  action  which  you  might  pur- 
sue. All  that  I  say  to  you  is  that  I  am  willing  to  give  ten 
thousand  pounds  for  that  document." 

"Ten  thousand  pounds!"  Rowan  muttered.  "It 
would  be  enough  —  more  than  enough." 

"If  you  fail,"  continued  Deane,  "and  find  yourself  in 
trouble,  I  know  nothing  of  you.  I  shall  not  raise  a  finger 
to  help  you.  I  demand  from  you  your  word  of  honor  that 
you  do  not  mention  my  name,  that  you  deal  with  Sinclair 
simply  as  a  speculative  financier  disposed  to  be  his  friend. 
Remember  that  the  slightest  association  of  my  name  with 
yours  would  give  him  the  clue  to  the  whole  thing,  and 


THE   PURCHASE  15 

would  mean  ruin  here.  On  the  other  hand,  before  you  go, 
if  you  tell  me  that  you  are  going  heart  and  soul  into  this 
enterprise,  I  shall  give  you  five  hundred  pounds.  Some  of 
this  you  will  need  for  clothes,  to  make  a  presentable  ap- 
pearance, and  to  be  able  to  entertain  Sinclair,  and  play 
your  part  as  a  capitalist.  If  you  fail,  you  can  keep  the 
balance  as  a  loan  or  a  gift,  whichever  you  like.  Now  you 
can  take  your  choice.  I  am  placing  a  good  deal  of  confi- 
dence in  you,  but  I  think  that  I  know  my  man." 

Rowan  struck  the  end  of  the  table  with  his  hand.  "  Yes, 
you  do,  Deane !"  he  declared,  looking  at  him  with  kindling 
eyes.  "You  do  know  him,  indeed.  If  I  were  to  die  to- 
morrow, Dick  Sinclair  is  the  one  man  in  the  world  I  should 
die  hating.  He  served  me  a  shabby  trick  once,  and  I  've 
never  forgotten  it.  Perhaps,"  Rowan  added,  —  "  perhaps 
I  may  now  turn  the  tables  upon  him." 

"No  mention  of  my  name,  mind,"  Deane  repeated 
emphatically. 

Rowan  held  out  his  hand.  "I  take  my  chance,  Deane," 
he  said,  "and  on  my  honor  I  '11  play  the  game." 


CHAPTER  III 

A    FAMILY    AFFAIR 

A  FEW  hours  later,  Stirling  Deane  sat  at  a  small 
round  dining-table,  side  by  side  with  the  father 
of  the  girl  to  whom  he  had  been  engaged  for  exactly  three 
days.  His  hostess,  the  Countess  of  Nunneley,  and  her 
daughter,  Lady  Olive,  had  only  just  left  them.  It  had 
been  a  dinner  absolutely  en  famille. 

"Draw  up  your  chair,  Deane,  and  try  some  of  this 
port,"  Lord  Nunneley  said. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Deane,  "I'll  finish  my  cham- 
pagne, if  I  may." 

"Just  as  you  like,"  his  host  answered.  "I  notice  you 
are  very  careful  never  to  mix,  Deane.  Perhaps  you  are 
right.  There's  nothing  like  being  absolutely  fit,  and 
you  fellows  in  the  city  must  have  a  tremendous  lot  on  your 
minds  sometimes.  I  suppose,  however  prosperous  you 
are,  you  never  have  a  day  without  a  certain  amount  of 
anxiety?" 

"Never,"  Deane  assented  quietly. 

Lord  Nunneley,  who  had  a  great  reputation  as  a  peer 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  17 

of  marked  sporting  proclivities,  crossed  his  legs,  and, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  lit  a  cigarette. 

"I  never  thought,"  he  continued,  "that  I  should  be 
glad  to  give  Olive  to  anyone  —  to  anyone  —  you  won't 
mind  if  I  say  it  —  outside  our  own  immediate  circle.  Of 
course,  I  know  your  people  were  all  right.  I've  ridden 
to  hounds  with  your  father  many  a  time,  but  when  a 
family  drifts  into  the  city,  one  naturally  loses  sight  of 
them.  You  will  find  me  a  model  father-in-law,  though, 
Deane.  I  never  borrow  money,  I  would  n't  be  a  director 
of  a  public  company  for  anything  in  the  world,  and  I 
have  n't  a  single  relation  for  whom  I  want  a  berth." 

Deane  smiled.  His  manner  was  natural  enough,  but 
only  he  knew  how  difficult  he  found  it  to  continue  this 
sort  of  conversation  —  to  keep  his  attention  fixed  upon 
the  somewhat  garrulous  utterances  of  his  prospective 
father-in-law. 

"  You  are  very  wise  to  steer  clear  of  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
sir,"  he  said.  "The  city  is  no  place  for  men  who  have 
not  been  brought  up  to  it,  and  the  days  of  guinea-pig 
directors  are  over." 

Lord  Nunneley  nodded.  "My  lawyers  have  been 
making  inquiries  about  you  to-day,  Deane,"  he  said. 
"You  insisted  on  my  doing  so,  so  I  let  them,  although  it 
was  more  for  your  satisfaction  than  mine.  According  to 
their  report,  you  seem  to  have  rather  underestimated 


18  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

your  position.  They  tell  me  that  yours  is  one  of  the 
richest  corporations  in  the  mining  world,  and  that  you 
yourself  are  very  wealthy." 

Deane  inclined  his  head  slowly.  He  leaned  across  the 
table,  and  helped  himself  to  a  cigarette.  A  few  nights 
ago  he  could  have  listened  to  such  a  speech  with  a  feeling 
of  genuine  satisfaction.  Now,  everything  seemed  changed. 
The  rock  upon  which  he  had  stood  seemed  to  have 
become  a  shifting  quicksand.  Dick  Sinclair  was  a  black- 
mailer and  a  thief,  he  told  himself,  with  a  fierce  desire  to 
escape  from  the  shadow  which  seemed  somehow  to  have 
settled  upon  him.  The  document  he  had  brandished 
was  not  worth  the  paper  it  was  written  on !  His  attack, 
even  if  he  ventured  to  make  it,  could  prove  no  more 
venomous  than  the  sting  of  an  insect.  Yet  the  shadow 
remained.  Deane,  for  the  first  time,  possibly,  in  his  life, 
felt  that  his  nerve  had  temporarily  gone.  It  was  all  that 
he  could  do  to  sit  still  and  listen  to  his  companion's  easy 
talk. 

"Of  course,  I  am  glad  enough  for  Olive  to  marry  a 
rich  man,  especially  as  her  tastes  seem  to  run  that  way," 
Lord  Nunneley  continued;  "but  I  tell  you  frankly  that 
I  should  n't  have  fancied  a  marriage  for  money  pure  and 
simple.  I  am  not  a  wealthy  man,  but  I  can  keep  my 
places  going  pretty  comfortably,  and  I  don't  know  the 
meaning  of  a  mortgage.  Olive  will  have  her  thousand 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  19 

a  year  settled  upon  her  for  life  when  she  marries,  and 
something  more  when  I  die.  In  a  sense,  it's  nothing,  of 
course,  but  it  will  help  pay  for  her  frocks." 

"I  am  sure  you  are  very  generous,"  Deane  murmured. 
"I  had  not  even  considered  the  question  of  dowry  so  far 
as  Olive  was  concerned." 

Lord  Nunneley  nodded.  "As  I  remarked  just  now," 
he  went  on,  "  I  should  have  hated  the  idea  of  a  marriage 
for  money  pure  and  simple.  I  have  seen  you  ride  to 
hounds,  Deane,  as  well  as  any  man  I  know,  and  there's 
no  one  I  'd  sooner  trust  to  bring  down  his  birds  at  an  awk- 
ward corner  than  you.  That  sort  of  thing  counts,  you 
know.  I  always  meant  to  have  a  sportsman  for  a  son- 
in-law,  and  I  am  thankful  that  your  city  life  has  n't 
spoiled  you  for  the  other  things.  By  the  way,  how  old  are 
you,  Deane?" 

"I  shall  be  forty  my  next  birthday,"  Deane  answered. 

His  host  nodded.  "Well,"  he  said,  "you  won't  want 
to  go  wearing  yourself  out  making  more  millions,  surely  ? 
Why  don't  you  retire,  and  buy  an  estate?" 

"I  have  thought  of  it,"  Deane  answered.  "I  mean  to 
take  things  easier,  at  any  rate,  after  my  marriage." 

Lord  Nunneley  sipped  his  wine  reflectively.  "I  have 
never  done  a  stroke  of  work  all  my  life,"  he  remarked, 
"beyond  looking  after  my  agent's  accounts,  which  I 
have  never  been  able  to  understand,  and  trying  a  little 


20  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

scientific  farming,  by  which  I  have  invariably  lost  money. 
I  do  respect  a  man,  though,  who  has  been  through  the 
mill  and  held  his  own,  and  against  whom  no  one  has  a 
word  to  say.  At  the  same  time,  Deane,"  he  added,  "don't 
stick  at  it  too  long.  If  you'll  forgive  my  mentioning  it, 
you  don't  look  quite  the  man  you  did  even  two  or  three 
years  ago." 

"I  am  a  little  run  down,"  Deane  said.  "I  am  going 
to  take  a  holiday  in  a  few  weeks." 

"You  are  coming  to  us  in  Scotland,  of  course,"  said 
Lord  Nunneley.  "But  holiday  or  no  holiday,  take  my 
advice,  and  even  if  you  have  to  sacrifice  a  bit,  don't  stay 
in  harness  too  long.  The  money  you  can't  spend  is  n't 
worth  a  snap  of  the  fingers.  You  and  Olive  could  live 
on  the  interest  of  what  you  have,  and  there's  scarcely  a 
thing  you  need  deny  yourselves." 

Deane  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "That  is  true  enough," 
he  said,  "  but  it  is  never  quite  so  easy,  when  one  is  involved 
in  things  as  I  am,  to  escape  from  them.  The  Devil 
Spider  spins  a  golden  web  to  catch  us  mortals,  and  it's 
hard  work  to  get  out  of  it.  I  am  afraid  that  my  share- 
holders would  consider  themselves  very  much  aggrieved 
if  I  sent  in  my  resignation  without  at  least  a  year's 
warning." 

"A  year,"  Lord  Nunneley  remarked  reflectively. 
"Well,  I  should  feel  quite  satisfied  if  I  thought  that  you 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  21 

were  going  to  chuck  it  then.  Don't  misunderstand  me, 
Deane,"  he  went  on.  "Please  don't  for  a  moment  believe 
that  I  am  such  an  arrant  snob  as  to  mind  having  a  son-in- 
law  who's  engaged  in  business.  I  look  upon  yours  as  a 
jolly  fine  position,  and  I  can  assure  you  that  I  have  a 
sincere  respect  for  a  man  who  has  attained  to  it  at  your 
age.  It  is  simply  that  I  fancy  you  are  carrying  a  much 
heavier  burden  than  you  sometimes  realize  —  simply  for 
your  own  sake  and  Olive's  that  I  would  like  to  hear  of 
your  taking  things  more  easily." 

"I  understand,"  Deane  said,  —  "I  quite  understand. 
You  are  really  very  kind,  Lord  Nunneley!  Even  if  it 
is  impossible  for  me  to  escape  just  for  the  moment,  I 
can  assure  you  that  I  shall  take  the  first  opportunity  of 
doing  so." 

The  butler,  with  an  apologetic  bow,  came  softly  across 
the  room  and  delivered  a  message.  Lady  Olive  was  going 
to  a  party,  and  would  be  glad  if  Mr.  Deane  could  come 
into  the  drawing-room  at  once. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   MTJRDER 

DEANE,  with  the  air  of  one  who  was  an  habitue  to 
the  house,  found  his  way  to  the  drawing-room, 
where  Lady  Olive  was  seated  before  the  piano,  playing 
softly.  She  rose  as  he  entered,  and  came  to  meet  him. 

"I  have  barely  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Stirling,"  she  said. 
"It  was  too  absurd  of  you  to  be  sitting  there  talking  to 
father  all  the  time.  Come  and  say  nice  things  to  me. 
Mother  has  gone  upstairs  to  put  on  her  tiara." 

He  held  her  at  arm's  length  for  a  moment,  looking  at 
her.  She  was  not  very  tall,  but  she  was  graceful,  and  she 
carried  herself  as  the  women  of  her  family  had  done 
since  the  days  of  Elizabeth.  Her  face  was  a  little  cold, 
except  when  she  smiled,  and  her  eyes  were  large  and 
brilliant.  There  was  about  her  toilette  and  her  features 
a  sort  of  trim  perfection,  which  left  no  room  for  criticism. 
She  was  considered,  amongst  those  whom  she  called  her 
friends,  handsome  rather  than  beautiful,  and  ambitious 
rather  than  affectionate.  Nevertheless,  she  blushed  most 
becomingly  when  Deane  stooped  to  kiss  her,  and  her  face 


A  MURDER  23 

certainly  seemed  to  lose  for  the  time  its  somewhat  cold 
expression. 

"You  are  going  to  the  Waldrons',  I  suppose?"  he  re- 
marked. "You  look  charming,  dear." 

She  made  a  little  grimace.  "It's  too  bad  that  you 
won't  be  there.  However,  in  a  few  days  that  will 
be  all  right.  Now  that  our  engagement  is  announced, 
everyone  will  send  you  cards,  of  course,  for  everywhere 
I  go." 

He  smiled  a  little  doubtfully.  "You  won't  expect  too 
much  of  me  in  that  way,  will  you?"  he  asked.  "My 
afternoons,  for  instance,  are  nearly  always  occupied." 

"  You  will  not  find  me  exacting,"  she  said,  with  a  reas- 
suring nod.  "  I  don't  expect  you  to  play  the  part  of  social 
butterfly  at  all,  and  although  we  must  be  seen  together 
sometimes,  of  course,  I  have  n't  the  least  desire  to  keep 
you  dangling  at  my  heels.  Tell  me,  what  has  father 
been  talking  to  you  about?" 

"  He  has  been  urging  me  to  leave  the  city,"  Deane  said, 
"and  buy  an  estate." 

Lady  Olive  looked  thoughtful.  "That  is  very  inter- 
esting," she  said. 

"What  have  you  to  say  about  it?"   he  asked. 

"It  depends,"  she  answered,  "very  much  upon  circum- 
stances. I  am  not  sure  that  I  approve  of  a  man  having 
nothing  whatever  to  do.  Besides,  I  have  no  idea  how 


24  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

rich  you  are,  Stirling.  I  think  I  ought  to  warn  you  that 
I  am  very  extravagant." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  he  assured  her.  "  I  should 
dislike  a  wife  who  would  n't  spend  my  money." 

They  were  sitting  side  by  side  upon  a  sofa,  and  she 
toyed  with  her  fan  for  several  moments.  Then  she  held 
out  her  right  hand  to  him,  and  allowed  it  to  remain  in  his 
grasp.  For  Lady  Olive,  this  was  distinctly  a  lover-like 
proceeding.  She  was  not  at  all  sure  in  her  own  mind 
whether  such  a  liberty  was  judicious,  having  been  brought 
up  always  to  consider  any  display  of  affection  as  utterly 
bourgeois. 

"  It  seems  a  curious  question  to  ask,"  she  said  thought- 
fully; "but,  after  all,  it  would  be  only  affectation  to  pre- 
tend that  I  was  not  interested.  Tell  me  what  your  income 
is  —  about,  Stirling  ?" 

"  In  round  figures,"  he  answered,  "  it  is  to-day,  I  should 
think,  a  trifle  over  twenty-five  thousand  a  year." 

She  nodded  approvingly,  and  yet  without  a  great  deal 
of  enthusiasm.  "  We  ought  to  be  able  to  make  that  do," 
she  said.  "Do  you  mean  that  it  would  be  as  much  as 
that  if  you  gave  up  business?  Perhaps  you  could  give 
it  up  partially,  and  keep  a  few  directorships,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort?" 

"I  could  not  give  up  my  work  at  all,"  he  told  her, 
"for  two  years.  I  get  a  very  large  income  from  my  com- 


A  MURDER  25 

pany,  and  I  have  an  agreement  with  them.  Besides,  my 
own  interests  are  so  woven  up  with  theirs  that  I  could  not 
run  the  risk  of  having  anyone  at  the  head  of  affairs  in 
whom  I  had  not  complete  confidence." 

She  nodded.  "That  is  quite  reasonable,"  she  admitted. 
"You  get  holidays,  of  course?" 

"Naturally,"  he  answered. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Lady  Olive  was  half  inclined 
to  wonder  why,  having  possessed  himself  of  her  hand,  he 
made  none  of  the  other  overtures  which  she  had  always 
understood  were  usual.  Deane,  however,  was  in  no 
humor  for  love-making.  She  had  represented  to  him, 
only  a  few  days  ago,  a  part  of  his  future  life  which  was 
altogether  inevitable,  and  which  he  could  easily  come  to 
find  pleasant  enough,  but  just  now  there  seemed  to  be  a 
barrier  between  them.  Notwithstanding  Lord  Nunneley's 
kindness,  and  his  wife's  approval,  he  knew  very  well 
that  it  was  not  only  Stirling  Deane  who  had  been  accepted 
as  a  suitor.  It  was  the  millionaire,  the  man  of  great 
affairs,  the  man  of  untarnished  reputation.  Dick  Sin- 
clair's threats  were  still  ringing  in  his  ears.  He  somehow 
felt  that  he  was  not  even  playing  the  game  to  be  sitting 
there,  holding  the  hand  of  this  most  exclusive  young 
lady. 

"You  are  a  little  quiet  to-night,"  she  remarked. 

"Perhaps,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "I  am  a  little  shy." 


26  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

She  was  inclined  to  take  his  words  seriously.  There 
had  been  moments  before  their  engagement  when  he  had 
certainly  looked  at  her  in  a  very  different  manner,  when 
she  had  realized  that  if  she  really  did  say  "yes"  to  him, 
she  might  find  herself  in  danger  of  having  to  submit  to 
something  a  little  more  vigorous  than  the  ordinary  love- 
making  she  knew  anything  of.  She  had  even  made  up 
her  mind,  with  a  faint  blush,  to  submit  to  it,  —  had  grown 
to  expect  it.  Somehow,  although  she  would  have  found 
the  admission  distinctly  humiliating,  she  was  a  trifle 
disappointed. 

"I  wonder,"  she  whispered,  looking  down  upon  the 
carpet,  "if  you  need  —  if  you  really  need  encouragement." 

She  felt  a  sudden  thrill  as  his  arm  touched  her,  a  sudden 
sense  of  his  enveloping  presence.  Then  the  door  opened, 
and  she  withdrew  herself  quickly.  The  Countess  came 
into  the  room,  a  curious  replica  of  her  daughter,  except 
that  her  hair  was  gray,  and  the  light  in  her  eyes  a  little 
steelier. 

"  So  sorry  you  are  not  going  with  us,"  she  remarked  to 
Deane.  "Inquire  if  the  brougham  is  waiting,"  she  con- 
tinued, turning  to  her  maid.  "No,  don't  bother,  Stirling," 
she  added,  as  he  moved  toward  the  door.  "We  are  really 
in  plenty  of  time." 

Lord  Nunneley  came  in,  with  the  evening  paper  in  his 
hand. 


A  MURDER  27 

"Is  there  any  news,  George?"  his  wife  asked. 

He  shook  his  head.  "There  never  is,"  he  answered. 
"The  evening  papers  aren't  worth  looking  at  now. 
Shocking  murder,  by  the  bye,  at  one  of  the  big  hotels." 

Deane  turned  slowly  round.    "  A  murder  ?  "  he  repeated. 

His  host  nodded  as  he  lit  a  cigarette.  "Fellow  just 
arrived  in  the  country,"  he  remarked,  —  "supposed  to 
have  had  a  lot  of  money  in  his  pocket.  Found  dead  in 
his  room  at  about  seven  o'clock  to-night." 

"Do  you  remember  the  name  of  the  hotel?"  asked 
Deane. 

Lord  Nunneley  glanced  at  the  paper  which  he  still  held 
in  his  hand.  "The  Universal,"  he  answered,  —  "that 
huge  new  place,  you  know,  near  the  Strand." 

"Was  the  murderer  caught?"   Deane  asked. 

"Arrested  just  as  he  was  leaving  the  hotel,"  Lord 
Nunneley  answered,  —  "at  least  they  arrested  the  man 
they  thought  had  done  it.  Here  's  the  paper,  if  you  have 
a  taste  for  horrors." 

Deane  stood  perfectly  still  for  several  minutes.  Lady 
Olive  was  buttoning  her  gloves,  and  did  not  notice  him. 
Her  mother  was  standing  at  the  further  end  of  the  room, 
helping  herself  to  coffee.  Lord  Nunneley  alone  was  con- 
scious of  the  change  in  his  guest's  expression. 

"Nothing  wrong,  I  hope,  Deane?"  he  asked.  "You 
did  n't  know  the  fellow,  by  any  chance,  did  you?" 


28  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Deane  shook  his  head.  He  spoke  very  quietly  and  very 
distinctly.  Except  that  he  was  unusually  pale,  his  manner 
showed  no  signs  of  emotion.  And  yet,  all  the  time  he  felt 
that  he  was  being  stifled !  In  his  ears  was  the  singing  of 
tragedy ! 

"No!"  he  said.    "I  never  heard  of  him  in  my  life." 

He  crossed  the  room  to  help  Lady  Olive  with  her 
cloak. 

"Stay  and  have  a  smoke  with  me,"  Lord  Nunneley 
suggested.  "I  am  going  round  to  the  club  in  about  an 
hour's  time,  and  then  I  am  going  to  pick  these  people  up 
at  a  ball  somewhere." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  Deane  answered.  "To  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  have  just  remembered  a  very  important  letter 
which  I  ought  to  have  written.  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I 
am  going  to  hurry  away  at  once.  I  should  like  to  catch 
my  secretary  before  he  leaves." 

Lord  Nunneley  nodded.  "You  will  have  to  get  him  to 
give  it  up,"  he  said  to  his  daughter.  "Fancy  having  to 
write  a  business  letter  at  ten  o'clock  at  night!  Perfect 
slavery ! " 

"Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow,  Stirling?"  Lady  Olive 
asked,  walking  with  him  into  the  hall. 

"We  '11  lunch,  if  you  like,"  he  said.  "Or  shall  I  come 
to  tea?  I  shall  not  be  busy  much  after  noon." 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  what  I  have  to  do  to-morrow," 


A  MURDER  29 

she  answered,  "but  I  think  that  I  would  rather  that  you 
came  here.  We  '11  meet  sometime,  anyhow.  Good-bye!" 

He  raised  her  fingers  to  his  lips.  "Enjoy  yourself,"  he 
said. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Absolutely  a  duty  dance," 
she  murmured,  waving  her  hand.  "I  know  that  I  shall 
be  bored  to  death !  By  the  bye,  Stirling,  don't  forget  that 
in  about  three  weeks'  time  I  want  you  to  give  a  luncheon 
party  at  the  Carlton  to  Julia  and  her  husband,  and  some 
of  the  others." 

"As  soon  as  you  like,"  Deane  answered. 

"Julia  won't  be  back  till  then,"  Lady  Olive  said.  "Au 
revoir ! " 


CHAPTER  V 

A  DEBT    INCURRED 

A  LITTLE  stream  of  people  came  suddenly  out  from 
the  dark,  forbidding-looking  building  into  the  sun- 
lit street.  The  tragedy  was  over,  and  one  by  one  they 
took  their  several  ways,  and  were  swallowed  up  in  the 
restless  life  of  the  great  city.  Yet  there  was  not  one  of 
them  who  did  not  carry  in  his  face  some  trace  of  those 
hours  of  gloomy  excitement,  some  reminiscent  shadow  of 
the  tragedy  which  had  spread  itself  out  into  passionate 
life  before  their  eyes.  The  most  callous  was  conscious  of 
a  few  minutes'  unusual  gravity.  Some  of  the  more  im- 
pressionable carried  with  them  the  memory  of  that  hot, 
crowded  room,  the  air  of  tense  excitement,  the  slowly 
spoken,  solemn  words,  throughout  that  day  and  many 
days  to  come. 

"  And  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  upon  your  soul ! " 

There  was  one  man  who  issued  from  the  building  and 

made  his  way  into  the  street,  who  seemed  altogether  dazed. 

His  lips  were  drawn  tightly  together,  his  eyes  were  set  in 

an  unseeing  stare.    It  was  not  until  he  had  walked  fifty 


A  DEBT  INCURRED  31 

yards  or  so  that  he  seemed  even  to  realize  where  he  was. 
Then  he  came  to  a  sudden  standstill,  and  retraced  his 
steps.  Standing  outside  the  building  which  he  had  just 
quitted  was  a  small  electric  brougham,  in  front  of  which 
he  stopped.  He  glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  a  few  min- 
utes past  one  o'clock.  All  around  was  the  great  stream 
of  city  men  and  clerks,  hurrying  to  their  mid-day  meal. 
Once  more,  as  he  stood  with  the  handle  in  his  hand,  he 
looked  back  down  the  dark  passage,  guarded  by  a  single 
policeman,  through  which  he  had  come  a  moment  or  two 
before.  The  scene  in  the  little  courthouse  spread  itself 
out  with  almost  hideous  precision  before  his  reluctant 
eyes.  He  saw  once  more  what  is  certainly  the  greatest 
tragedy  which  the  mechanical  side  of  our  every-day  life 
can  offer  to  the  seeker  after  sensations.  He  saw  a  man 
stand  up  and  listen  to  the  words  pronounced  which  are  to 
deprive  him  of  life,  —  "  And  may  the  Lord  have  mercy 
upon  your  soul!" 

Deane  turned  to  his  chauffeur.  "The  Carlton!"  he 
said,  and  stepped  inside. 

The  brougham  glided  away,  swung  in  and  out  of  the 
traffic,  and  ran  smoothly  along  the  Embankment,  west- 
ward. Deane  let  down  both  the  windows,  took  off  his 
hat  and  placed  it  on  the  seat  opposite  him.  Then  he 
drew  a  small  fine  cambric  handkerchief  from  his  pocket, 
and  wiped  his  forehead. 


32  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"God  in  Heaven!"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "Twelve 
men,  and  not  one  of  them  could  see  the  truth.  Twelve 
men,  all  fools!" 

He  took  a  cigarette  from  a  small  gold  case,  and  lit  it 
with  trembling  fingers.  Then  he  leaned  out  of  the  car- 
riage window.  "Stop  at  the  Me'tropole,  Richards,"  he 
ordered. 

The  man  was  just  swinging  into  Northumberland 
Avenue,  and  he  pulled  up  in  front  of  the  hotel.  Deane 
went  in  hurriedly,  and  made  his  way  to  the  smoking- 
room,  exchanging  abrupt  greetings  with  one  or  two  ac- 
quaintances. There  he  ordered  and  drank  quickly  a 
large  brandy-and-soda.  When  he  retraced  his  steps,  he 
felt  more  composed. 

"To  the  Carlton  now,"  he  ordered.  "Hurry,  please. 
I  fancy  that  I  am  a  little  late." 

In  the  foyer  of  the  restaurant,  Lady  Olive  came  slowly 
forward  to  meet  him.  She  was  beautifully  dressed,  and 
she  wore  her  clothes  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  been  ac- 
customed to  be  clad  in  silk  and  laces  from  the  days  of  her 
cradle.  She  had  been  a  beauty  for  so  long  that  no  one 
questioned  her  looks.  It  seemed  even  incredible  that  she 
was  twenty-nine  years  old.  One  realized  that  she  was  of 
the  order  of  women  who  refuse  to  grow  old,  —  women 
without  nerves,  unruffled  by  emotions,  women  who  come 
smiling  through  the  years,  unconscious  devotees  of  the 


Lady  Olive  came  slowly  forward  to  meet  him. 

Page  32 


A  DEBT  INCURRED  33 

essential  philosophy.  To  Deane  she  had  never  seemed 
more  desirable  than  when  she  greeted  him  with  a  slight 
uplifting  of  her  eyebrows,  and  turned  to  present  him  to 
another  man  and  woman  who  were  standing  by. 

"Mr.  Deane  is  going  to  make  the  usual  excuses,  I 
know,"  she  declared.  "Let  us  anticipate  him,  and  say 
nothing  about  our  wait.  We  won't  even  ask  whether  it 
was  a  directors'  meeting,  or  a  message  from  the  governor 
of  the  Bank  of  England.  Stirling,  this  is  my  cousin,  Mary 
Elstree,  and  her  husband,  Major  Elstree  —  Mr.  Deane ! 
The  others  are  somewhere  about.  What  a  tiresome  per- 
son Julia  is !  She  has  drifted  away  over  there  with  a  lot 
of  people  whom  I  don't  know.  That  is  the  worst  of  taking 
Julia  anywhere.  I  think  that  she  would  discover  ac- 
quaintances in  an  A  B  C  shop.  Do  find  her,  Stirling.  No, 
don't  bother !  Here  she  comes." 

A  tall,  dark  woman  detached  herself  from  a  neighboring 
crowd,  and  came  up  to  Deane  with  outstretched  hands. 
"My  dear  man!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  dare  you  look 
so  cool  and  nonchalant!  Do  you  realize  that  we  are  all 
starving?  We  have  been  waiting  here  for  you  for  more 
than  half  an  hour." 

"I  am  sorry,"  answered  Deane.  "You  see,  you  people 
here  have  taken  to  lunching  so  early  nowadays.  You 
make  it  hard  for  a  man  to  get  through  any  work  at  all  in 
the  city." 


34  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"Early  lunches  have  come  in  with  the  simpler  life," 
Julia  Raynham  declared.  "One  has  so  many  more  hours 
to  look  forward  to  dinner,  and  so  much  more  appetite 
when  it  comes.  I  suppose  we  must  forgive  you,"  she  went 
on.  "At  any  rate,  you  are  better  than  my  husband,  who 
won't  come  out  to  lunch  at  all.  He  says  that  all  restaurant 
food  is  poisonous,  and  I  can't  drag  him  away  from  the 
club.  Why  a  man  should  put  his  digestion  before  our 
society,  I  can't  imagine.  I  hope  you  will  never  be  so  un- 
gallant,  Mr.  Deane.  Shall  we  go  in,  Olive?" 

"If  you  will  excuse  me  for  one  moment,"  Deane  said, 
passing  on  ahead,  "  I  will  just  see  that  the  table  is  all  right. 
I  telephoned  to  Gustave,  but  even  a  maitre  d' hotel  forgets 
sometimes." 

He  looked  into  the  room,  and  nodded  to  the  presiding 
genius  who  came  hurrying  up.  The  table  was  there,  duly 
reserved,  and  covered  with  the  dark  red  roses  which  he 
had  ordered.  He  turned  to  Mrs.  Elstree  and  the  others 
who  were  following  her. 

"I  think  we  can  go  in,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you  people 
have  not  lost  all  your  appetites  waiting  for  me." 

Lady  Olive  looked  at  him  a  little  curiously  as  she  took 
the  seat  at  his  left,  hers  by  unspoken  consent  as  his  fiance'e. 
"My  dear  Stirling,"  she  whispered,  "have  you  had  a  very 
trying  morning?  You  look  somehow  as  though  you  had 
been  worried." 


A  DEBT  INCURRED  35 

He  hesitated.  "Well,"  he  answered,  "scarcely  that, 
perhaps.  I  had  rather  a  bad  hour  or  so.  Things  don't 
go  always  our  way,  you  know,  in  the  city,  even  when  one 
is  most  prosperous." 

"You  are  foolish  to  worry,"  she  said  calmly.  "Half 
the  people  in  the  world  spoil  their  lives  by  giving  way  to 
that  sort  of  thing.  I  should  have  thought  that  your  tem- 
perament would  have  saved  you  from  that." 

Deane  smiled.  "Remember,"  he  said,  "that  I  have 
been  in  other  places  when  I  might  have  been  with  you, 
and  excuse  me." 

"You  are  much  too  gallant,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
laugh,  "to  argue  with  seriously." 

"By  the  bye,"  Major  Elstree  asked,  "has  anyone  seen 
a  special  edition  ?  I  wonder  if  the  Rowan  case  is  finished." 

Deane  set  down  the  wineglass  which  he  had  just  raised 
to  his  lips.  "The  verdict  was  given  just  as  I  left  the  city/' 
he  answered.  "Rowan  was  found  guilty!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN    IMPERIOUS    DEMAND 

fT^HERE  was  a  little  murmur  of  interest.     On   the 

JL  whole,  although  the  result  of  the  trial  had  seemed 
fairly  certain,  everyone  was  surprised. 

"Guilty  of  murder  or  manslaughter?"  Major  Elstree 
asked. 

"Of  murder,"  answered  Deane.  "There  was  not  even 
a  recommendation  to  mercy." 

Lady  Olive  looked  reproachfully  at  him.  "My  dear 
Stirling,  you  really  should  n't  have  told  us  at  luncheon 
time.  If  I  had  n't  been  so  very  hungry,  I  am  sure  it 
would  have  taken  my  appetite  away.  He  was  such  a 
good-looking  fellow,  and  he  has  been  so  brave  all 
through  the  trial." 

"Brave  or  callous,  do  you  think?"  Major  Elstree  asked. 

"  Brave,  I  think,"  Julia  Raynham  declared,  leaning  for- 
ward in  her  place.  "I  went  to  the  trial  the  first  day.  He 
followed  every  question  that  was  asked,  and  he  was  always 
making  suggestions  to  his  solicitor.  I  think  when  one  un- 
derstands like  that,  when  one's  intellect  is  working  all  the 
time,  that  you  cannot  call  it  callousness." 


AN  IMPERIOUS   DEMAND  37 

"I  agree  with  you,"  Lady  Olive  declared.  "I  was 
there  myself,  and  except  that  he  looked  so  ill,  he  seemed 
quite  indifferent,  and  absolutely  free  from  nervousness. 
Yet  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  realized  his  position.  My  dear 
Stirling,  how  thoughtful  of  you  to  remember  the  Homard 
Americaine.  I  adore  hot  lobster,  don't  you,  Julia?" 

"  Delicious ! "  Julia  murmured. 

"I  wonder,"  Major  Elstree  said  reflectively,  "what 
must  be  the  state  of  mind  of  a  man  who  has  gone  through 
a  trial  lasting  four  or  five  days,  and  suddenly  realizes  that 
it  is  over  and  finished,  and  that  he  has  lost.  This  poor 
fellow,  for  instance.  When  he  woke  up  this  morning,  he 
perhaps  hoped  to  be  free  to-night,  —  things  went  alto- 
gether his  way  yesterday.  And  instead  of  being  free,  he 
has  been  taken  back  to  his  cell,  and  knows  —  even  at  this 
minute  he  is  realizing  —  that  he  will  never  leave  it  again 
until  he  leaves  it  to  die.  Personally,"  he  continued,  "I 
think  that  the  period  of  time  between  the  pronouncement 
of  a  sentence  and  its  execution  ought  to  be  swept  away. 
I  cannot  imagine  anything  more  horrible,  especially  to  a 
man  who  has  to  spend  the  long  nights  alone  with  that  one 
thought  racking  his  brain!" 

Lady  Olive  laid  down  her  fork.  "  My  dear  Harry,"  she 
declared,  "do  be  a  little  more  considerate.  How  are  we 
to  enjoy  our  luncheon  if  we  think  of  that  poor  man?" 

Major  Elstree  bowed  across  the  table.    "I  forgot,"  he 


38  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

said.  "Let  us  enjoy  our  luncheon,  by  all  means.  At  the 
same  time,  I  am  going  to  drink  my  first  glass  of  wine  to  a 
reprieve.  We  won't  discuss  the  question  of  whether  he 
deserves  it  or  not.  We  will  talk  instead,  if  you  like,  of 
directoire  gowns,  and  Flying  Star's  chance  for  the  gold 
cup.  But  —  I  drink  my  toast." 

"You  are  very  quiet,  Stirling,"  Lady  Olive  murmured 
to  the  man  who  sat  by  her  side. 

Deane  smiled  at  her.  "I  am  afraid  that  sometimes 
when  I  come  away  from  a  maze  of  figures,  my  brain,  or  at 
any  rate  my  tongue,  is  not  so  nimble  as  it  should  be.  I  '11 
keep  pace  with  you  all  presently." 

A  frock-coated,  white-waistcoated  maitre  d'hotel  came 
smiling  up  and  addressed  him  confidentially.  "Mr. 
Deane,"  he  said,  "you  are  wanted  for  a  moment  upon 
the  telephone." 

"You  are  sure  that  it  is  I  who  am  wanted?"  Deane 
asked,  a  little  doubtfully. 

"Quite  sure,  sir,"  the  man  replied.  "The  inquiry  was 
for  Mr.  Stirling  Deane." 

Deane  rose  to  his  feet.  "You  will  excuse  me?"  he 
begged,  turning  to  his  guests.  "I  suppose  they  have 
found  out  at  the  office  that  I  am  here,  and  they  have  prob- 
ably something  to  say  to  me." 

Nevertheless,  as  he  left  the  room  and  crossed  the  hall 
Deane  was  conscious  of  feeling  more  than  a  little  puzzled. 


AN  IMPERIOUS   DEMAND  39 

He  was  quite  certain  that  he  had  not  told  a  soul  at  the 
office  of  the  Incorporated  Gold-Mines  Association,  over 
which  he  presided,  that  he  was  lunching  at  the  Carlton. 
He  was  equally  certain  that  he  had  not  told  anyone  else. 
He  took  up  the  receiver  of  the  instrument  with  some 
curiosity. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Who  are  you?"  was  the  reply. 

"I  am  Stirling  Deane,"  Deane  said.  "Who  are  you, 
and  what  do  you  want  with  me?  Is  it  the  office?" 

"No!"  was  the  reply,  in  a  voice  wholly  unfamiliar  to 
him.  "It  is  not  the  office,  Mr.  Deane.  It  is  someone 
with  news  for  you." 

"News?"  Deane  repeated.  "I  should  like  to  know 
who  you  are  first,  and  to  hear  your  news  afterwards." 

"  Who  I  am  is  of  no  consequence,"  was  the  reply.  "  My 
news  is  that  Basil  Rowan  has  been  found  guilty,  and  has 
been  sentenced  to  be  hanged.  The  verdict  has  just  been 
pronounced." 

The  receiver  nearly  fell  from  Deane's  fingers.  He 
restrained  himself,  however,  with  an  effort.  "Well,"  he 
said,  "what  is  that  to  you  or  to  me?" 

"That  is  a  matter  which  we  will  not  discuss  over  the 
telephone,"  was  the  calm  reply.  "I  rang  you  up  to  tell 
you  this  because  I  thought  it  was  well  that  you  should 
know  quickly.  I  ask  you  now  what  you  are  going  to  do." 


40  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Deane's  was  the  face  of  a  strong  man  —  a  man  who 
scarcely  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word  "  nerves."  Yet  he 
felt  himself  struggling  with  a  sudden  sense  of  being  stifled. 
Something  seemed  to  be  hammering  at  his  brain.  His 
breath  was  coming  in  little  sobs.  He  answered  this  myste- 
rious voice  almost  incoherently. 

"What  do  you  mean?  How  can  it  concern  me?  Tell 
me  who  you  are  at  once,"  he  said. 

"It  does  not  matter  who  I  am,"  was  the  reply.  "You 
have  no  time  to  think  about  that.  What  you  want  to  real- 
ize is  that  Basil  Rowan  has  been  found  guilty,  and  that 
he  will  be  hanged  within  a  fortnight,  unless  — 

"Unless  what?"  Deane  gasped. 

"Unless  someone  intervenes,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"Who  could  intervene?"  he  demanded  hoarsely. 
"How  can  anyone  intervene?" 

"You  know,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

Deane  staggered  out  of  the  telephone  box  with  those  last 
words  ringing  in  his  ears.  He  felt  dazed,  scarcely  master 
of  himself.  The  healthy  color  seemed  to  have  been  drawn 
from  his  cheeks,  as  he  turned  mechanically  back  toward 
the  restaurant.  Half-way  there,  however,  he  paused.  For 
the  moment,  he  felt  it  impossible  to  face  his  guests.  He 
turned  into  the  little  smoking-room  and  sat  down.  The 
place  was  empty.  Even  the  little  bar  was  deserted.  He 
sat  in  one  of  the  green  leather  chairs,  his  hands  clutching 


AN  IMPERIOUS   DEMAND  41 

the  cushioned  arms,  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  upon  the  wall. 
Slowly  it  seemed  to  fall  away  —  to  crumble  into  nothing- 
ness —  before  his  rigid  gaze.  Again  he  saw  the  sombre- 
looking  courthouse,  the  judge  upon  the  bench,  his  sphinx- 
like  face  set  in  an  attitude  of  cold  attention.  He  saw  the 
barristers,  with  their  wigs  and  gowns,  the  few  distinguished 
strangers  upon  the  bench,  the  crowd  of  sightseers  behind 
the  barriers.  And  in  the  centre  of  it  all  —  Basil  Rowan, 
his  pale  face  and  drawn  features  standing  out  vividly 
against  the  gloomy  background.  It  was  no  ordinary  trial, 
this.  The  subtle,  dramatic  excitement,  which  only  a  ques- 
tion of  life  or  death  seems  to  generate,  was  throbbing 
through  the  dreary  court.  It  was  only,  comparatively 
speaking,  a  few  days  ago  that  the  man  who  stood  there 
now  waiting  to  hear  his  doom  had  found  his  way  down 
into  the  city,  and  sat  in  his  office,  and  made  his  pas- 
sionate appeal.  Deane's  hands  gripped  the  sides  of  the 
chair,  and  his  lips  moved.  He  told  himself,  as  he  had  told 
himself  a  hundred  times  before,  that  this  act  was  none  of 
his  doing,  that  not  a  single  word  of  his  had  suggested  or 
approved  of  it.  He  had  spoken  of  arguments,  of  influence. 
Was  it  any  responsibility  of  his  that  the  man  who  had 
listened  had  gone  further  —  had  chosen  to  gamble  instead 
with  life  and  death  ?  Deane  went  back  through  that  con- 
versation, word  by  word.  No,  he  was  guiltless !  He  had 
not  suggested  violence!  He  even  told  himself  that  he 


42  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

would  not  have  approved  of  it.  And  yet  the  weight  upon 
his  heart  was  not  lightened.  The  little  picture  was  still 
there,  reproduced  with  almost  photographic  exactness. 
Was  it  his  fancy,  or  had  the  trembling  man's  eyes  really 
turned  towards  him  —  had  his  white  lips  really  framed 
that  passionate,  unspoken  appeal  which  seemed  to  ring  in 
his  ears? 

Deane  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  little  stifled  cry.  He  seemed 
to  understand  now  how  men  who  were  left  alone  with  their 
thoughts  might  find  madness. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LOVE    OR    INTEREST? 

DEANE  found  his  little  party  drinking  their  coffee  in 
the  palm  lounge.  Lady  Olive  greeted  him  with 
upraised  eyebrows. 

" My  dear  Stirling !"  she  exclaimed.  "Have  you  been 
telephoning  to  the  other  end  of  the  world?" 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  he  answered,  taking  the  vacant  chair 
by  her  side.  "I  came  away  from  the  office  feeling  that  I 
had  forgotten  something,  and  it  took  me  quite  a  long  time 
to  straighten  things  out.  Tell  me,  what  are  you  all  going 
to  do  this  afternoon?" 

"We  are  going  down  to  Ranelagh,"  said  Lady  Olive. 
"There  is  some  tennis,  and  Dicky  is  playing  polo  in  the 
regimental  finals.  Don't  you  think  that  you  could  take  an 
hour  or  so  off,  and  come  down  with  us  ?  You  really  look 
as  though  you  needed  some  fresh  air." 

Deane  shook  his  head.  "Nothing  in  the  world,"  he  de- 
clared, "is  more  impossible.  I  have  an  appointment  in 
the  city  at  half-past  three,  and  another  at  four.  After  that 
I  have  at  least  a  hundred  letters  to  dictate." 


44  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"I  am  beginning  to  discover,"  Lady  Olive  remarked, 
with  an  air  of  resignation,  "that  there  are  disadvantages 
in  being  engaged  to  a  city  man." 

Deane  smiled.  "Let  us  hope,"  said  he,  "that  after  you 
are  married  you  will  still  regard  the  situation  in  the  same 
light.  Your  friend  Julia,  for  instance,  declares  that  she 
would  never  have  married  anyone  who  was  not  kept  away 
from  home  at  regular  intervals." 

Lady  Olive  leaned  a  little  towards  him.  After  all,  he 
had  been  very  nice.  The  Elstrees  had  found  him  delight- 
ful, and  there  was  no  man  in  the  lounge  half  so  good- 
looking.  She  decided  to  say  something  charming. 

"Julia,"  she  whispered,  "was  never  in  love  with  her 
husband,  even  before  she  married  him." 

"And  you?"  Deane  murmured. 

She  laughed  at  him  and  looked  away,  but  he  was  sud- 
denly insistent,  taking  her  hand,  and  forcing  her  to  turn 
again  towards  him. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  quietly,  "do  you  really  care  for  me, 
Olive?  Oh!  I  know  you  care  enough  to  justify  you  in 
marrying  me,  but  I  mean  something  different.  I  mean 
do  you  really  care  in  the  great  fashion,  you  know,  like  the 
people  one  reads  of,  —  like  Iseult,  and  Amy  Robsart,  and 
those  others?" 

She  looked  at  him  as  though  he  were  speaking  some  for- 
eign language.  The  earnestness  in  his  face  was  unmis- 


LOVE   OR  INTEREST?  45 

takable.  She  answered  him  with  a  perplexed  little  frown 
upon  her  forehead.  "Ah,  I  wonder!"  she  murmured. 
"What  a  very  strange  question  to  ask  me,  Stirling,  just 
now!  Frankly,  I  don't  know.  I  can  only  tell  you  that 
there  is  no  other  man.  You  are  quite  alone." 

The  others  were  all  discussing  some  subject  of  kindred 
interest.  Deane  felt  curiously  prompted  to  continue  his 
questioning.  His  engagement  had  been  such  a  very  matter- 
of-fact  affair.  To  a  certain  extent  it  was  understood  that 
he  was  marrying  for  position,  and  she  for  wealth.  And  yet 
in  all  their  conversations  they  had  discreetly  concealed  the 
fact.  They  had  told  each  other  that  they  cared,  if  not 
with  passion,  at  least  in  the  most  approved  manner.  There 
had  been  no  suggestion  in  their  many  t6te-a-tetes  that  they 
were  about  to  embark  upon  a  mariage  de  convenance. 

"Tell  me,"  Deane  persisted,  "if  things  should  go  wrong 
with  me,  or  if  you  had  met  me  simply  as  a  struggler,  with 
my  feet  upon  the  early  rungs  of  the  ladder,  —  tell  me,  could 
you  have  cared  then,  do  you  think?" 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  There  was  something  in 
his  face  which  compelled  the  truth.  "  I  do  not  know,"  she 
said.  "Let  me  think." 

"Think,  by  all  means,"  he  continued.  "Remember  that 
I  was  introduced  to  you,  even,  as  one  of  the  youngest 
millionaires.  Forgive  me  if  I  seem  egotistical,  but  I  have 
a  fancy  to  put  things  plainly.  There  is  a  glamour  about 


46  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

wealth.  I  came  to  you  with  that  glamour  about  my  name. 
I  am  rich,  of  course,  and  wealth  means  power.  How 
much  of  your  affection,  Olive,  came  out  to  the  man,  and 
how  much  to  the  millionaire?" 

"You  want  me  to  give  you  a  perfectly  honest  answer?" 
she  asked. 

"  Absolutely,"  he  assured  her.  "  Don't  be  afraid  of  hurt- 
ing my  vanity.  I  want  nothing  but  the  truth." 

"At  first,  then,"  she  told  him,  "nothing  to  the  man,  and 
everything  to  the  millionaire.  This  afternoon,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  I  rather  fancy  that  the  man  has  the  larger  share. 
You  are  quite  a  fascinating  person,  Stirling,  when  you 
choose  to  make  yourself  agreeable." 

"You  can't  accuse  me,"  he  remarked,  "of  making  any 
special  efforts  in  that  direction  to-day." 

"No!"  she  answered.  "You  were  rather  quiet,  but 
still  you  were  yourself.  Personally,  I  am  beginning  to 
find  something  very  attractive  about  a  silent  man.  You 
speak  quite  often  enough,  and  what  you  say  is  to  the 
point.  It  seems  always  to  be  the  pronouncement  of  the 
man  who  knows.  You  have  what  Julia  calls  an  air  of  re- 
served strength  about  you,  which  I  fancy  that  my  sex  finds 
a  little  attractive.  Tell  me,  why  all  this  questioning?" 

Deane  looked  away  —  through  the  cluster  of  palms  into 
the  little  smoking-room  from  which  he  had  issued  a  few 
minutes  before. 


LOVE   OR   INTEREST?  47 

"Even  the  houses,"  he  said,  "which  according  to  the  in- 
junctions of  Scripture  are  built  upon  a  rock,  are  liable  to 
destruction  by  earthquakes.  So,  even,  the  strongest  of  us 
in  the  city  have  always  the  hundredth  chance  working  in 
the  world  against  us.  The  most  amazing  collapses  have 
taken  place.  I  was  really  wondering  what  would  happen 
—  how  greatly  it  would  affect  you  —  if  my  riches  were  to 
vanish  into  thin  air." 

"What  an  unpractical  person  you  are  this  afternoon!" 
she  murmured,  looking  at  him  curiously.  "Supposing  I 
were  to  sit  here  and  worry  about  the  fit  of  the  dress  which 
Madame  Oliver  is  sending  me  home  this  afternoon  for  the 
ball  to-night.  I  could  make  myself  miserable  in  five  min- 
utes without  the  shadow  of  a  reason." 

"Madame  Oliver,"  he  declared,  "would  deserve  bank- 
ruptcy if  she  failed  to  fit  a  figure  like  yours." 

Lady  Olive  laughed.  "Really,"  she  said,  "you  are  be- 
coming quite  a  courtier." 

"Dear  people,"  Julia  Raynham  murmured,  leaning  over, 
"  if  we  may  bring  you  back  to  the  mundane  world,  every- 
body else  is  dying  to  start  for  Ranelagh." 

Lady  Olive  made  a  little  grimace,  and  rose  to  her  feet  at 
once.  "Stirling  and  I  have  only  been  boring  one  another 
because  you  all  seemed  so  occupied,"  she  declared.  "Ran- 
elagh, by  all  means.  It  is  quite  time  we  made  a  move." 

They  made  their  way  toward  the  Pall  Mall  entrance  of 


48  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

the  restaurant.     Lady  Olive  fell  back  once  more  with 

Deane. 

"  It 's  such  a  nuisance  about  this  wretched  dinner  to- 
night," she  said.  "I  think  it  was  very  bad  taste  indeed 
of  the  Duchess  to  ask  us  without  you.  You  won't  forget 
to  come  in  and  see  me  for  half-an-hour  before  we  go 
on  to  the  ball  ?  I  shall  be  in  my  room  at  eleven  o'clock 
punctually,  and  I  will  arrange  so  that  I  can  take  you  on 
to  Amberley  House." 

He  bowed.    "I  shall  be  with  you." 

"Where  are  you  dining?"  she  asked. 

"At  the  club,  most  likely.  I  never  dine  out  on  Wednes- 
days, if  I  can  help  it.  We  are  always  so  busy.  I  shall 
have  a  quiet,  comfortable  evening." 

"Au  revoir,  then!"  she  said,  stepping  into  one  of  the 
two  automobiles  which  were  waiting. 

Deane  made  his  adieux  to  the  rest  of  the  party  and 
watched  them  drive  off.  Then  he  called  a  hansom. 

"Messrs.  Hardaway  and  Sons,  Bedford  Row,"  he  told 
the  man.  "Drive  as  quickly  as  you  can." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AN    AWFUL    RESPONSIBILITY 

JOHN  HARDAWAY,  although  he  was  a  solicitor  in 
a  very  busy  practice,  did  not  keep  his  friend  waiting 
for  a  moment.  "Come  in,  Deane,  old  chap,"  he  said. 
"  Is  this  business  or  friendship?" 

"Mostly  business,"  declared  Deane. 

Hardaway  glanced  at  the  clock.  "Twelve  minutes, 
precisely,"  he  said.  "Fire  away,  there  's  a  good  fellow. 
You  are  not  going  to  give  me  the  affairs  of  the  Incorpo- 
rated Gold-Mines  Association  to  look  after,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Not  I,"  Deane  answered.  "They  need  a  more  subtle 
brain  than  yours,  I  am  afraid.  I  have  come  to  see  you 
about  the  other  affair." 

The  lawyer  nodded.  "You  heard  the  result?"  he 
asked.  "We  did  what  we  could." 

"Perhaps,"  Deane  answered.  "The  only  thing  is 
that  you  did  not  do  enough.  I  am  perfectly  convinced, 
Hardaway,  that  that  man  did  not  go  there  with  the  inten- 
tion of  murdering  Sinclair." 

"The  evidence,"  Hardaway  remarked,  "was  exceed- 
ingly awkward." 


50  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"Do  you  think,"  Deane  asked,  "that  there  is  any 
chance  of  a  reprieve?" 

"As  things  stand  at  present,"  said  Hardaway,  "I  am 
afraid  not." 

Deane  for  the  first  time  sat  down.  With  frowning 
face,  he  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  a  deliberate  study  of 
the  pattern  of  the  carpet.  "Hardaway,"  he  said  finally, 
"I  want  to  ask  you  a  question  in  criminal  law." 

The  lawyer  laughed  dryly.  "Not  on  your  own  account, 
I  hope?" 

"You  can  call  it  curiosity,  or  whatever  you  like," 
Deane  answered.  "The  only  point  is  that  I  want  you 
to  answer  me  a  question,  and  forget  that  I  have  ever 
asked  it  you.  Your  lawyer  is  like  your  confessor,  is  n't 
he  —  your  lawyer  and  your  doctor?" 

"He  should  be,"  Hardaway  answered  gravely. 

"Then  here  goes,"  Deane  said.  "I  put  a  case  to  you. 
I  mention  no  names.  You  can  imagine,  if  you  like,  that 
I  am  writing  a  novel.  A  man  is  tried  for  murder,  and 
he  is  sentenced  to  be  hanged.  All  the  time  there  has  been 
watching  this  case,  listening  to  every  word  of  the  evidence, 
a  person  who  knows  quite  as  much  of  it  as  the  prisoner 
himself,  —  someone  who,  if  it  had  been  possible,  could 
have  gone  into  the  witness  box  and  could  very  likely 
have  induced  the  jury  to  have  reduced  the  charge  from 
murder  to  manslaughter.  Never  mind  the  reasons  which 


AN  AWFUL  RESPONSIBILITY  51 

made  that  man  hold  his  tongue.  Consider  only  the  fact 
that  he  did  hold  his  peace,  believing  in  his  heart  that  it 
was  not  possible,  on  the  evidence  which  was  submitted, 
for  the  man  to  be  sentenced.  As  it  happened,  the  case 
for  the  prosecution  was  worked  up  with  almost  diabolical 
cleverness,  and  the  prisoner  was  found  guilty  —  guilty 
of  murder.  He  was  sentenced  to  be  hanged.  What  can 
this  person  do  to  save  his  life?  The  trial  is  closed.  It  is 
too  late  for  him  to  offer  himself  as  a  witness." 

Hardaway  nodded.  "I  understand,"  he  said.  "The 
procedure  is  very  simple.  He  should  go  to  the  solicitors 
for  the  defence,  and  they  will  communicate  with  the 
Home  Secretary." 

"The  case  cannot  be  reopened?"  Deane  asked. 

"  No ! "  answered  Hardaway,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head.  "Our  criminal  law  has  many  anomalies.  The 
only  thing  that  could  happen  in  the  prisoner's  favor 
would  be  that  if  this  favorable  evidence  were  convincing 
enough,  the  prisoner  might  be  granted  a  free  pardon, 
and  the  facts  made  known  through  the  Press.  Anything 
more  I  can  tell  you  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  Deane  answered,  rising.  "Many  thanks, 
old  fellow.  You  have  told  me  just  what  I  want  to  know." 

"  Six-and-eightpence,  please,"  Hardaway  remarked, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

Deane  laughed,  and  shook  his  head.    "I  sha'n't  pay," 


52  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

he  declared.  "You  can  run  it  in  with  the  other  account, 
or  I  '11  stand  you  a  dinner  when  and  where  you  please,  — 
a  dinner  and  a  box  at  the  Alhambra,  if  you  like." 

Hardaway  smiled.  "We  can't  run  our  office  on  such 
clients  as  you,"  he  remarked,  pressing  the  bell. 

"You  should  never  try  to  fleece  your  friends,"  Deane 
said. 

"  Referring   for   one   moment   to   the   other   affair  — 
began  Hardaway. 

"Well?" 

"The  only  real  chance  of  a  reprieve  that  I  can  see," 
Hardaway  continued,  "is  on  account  of  the  fellow's 
health.  I  believe  he  is  really  very  much  worse  than  he 
appears,  and  I  fancy  that  if  we  had  a  medical  examina- 
tion it  would  give  us  at  least  a  chance.  The  trouble  is 
that  he  really  seems  quite  indifferent.  Are  you  thinking 
of  trying  to  see  him,  Deane?" 

Deane  shook  his  head.  "No!"  he  said.  "I  am  afraid 
I  must  not  do  that.  There  are  reasons  why  I  dare  not 
let  my  name  be  associated  in  any  way  with  this  affair. 
They  may  come  out  later  on,  but  just  at  present  I  would 
rather  not  tell  even  you  what  they  are.  By  the  bye,  has 
anyone  representing  the  dead  man  turned  up  at  all  — 
I  mean  has  anyone  claimed  his  effects?" 

"No  one,"  the  lawyer  answered.  "From  what  I  can 
learn  they  are  very  insignificant." 


AN  AWFUL  RESPONSIBILITY  53 

Deane  nodded.  "  Can  I  rely  upon  you,"  he  asked,  "  to 
let  me  know  at  once  if  anyone  should  come  forward  to 
claim  them?" 

"By  all  means,"  Hardaway  answered. 

Deane  went  out  into  the  street,  and  stood  there  for  a 
few  moments  a  little  aimlessly.  Then  he  called  a  cab 
and  was  driven  to  his  offices,  a  great  block  of  buildings 
like  a  bank,  situated  in  a  small  court  off  Throgmorton 
Street.  He  passed  through  the  outer  offices  slowly,  ask- 
ing several  questions,  and  shaking  hands  with  one  or 
two  acquaintances.  When  at  last  he  reached  the  inner 
room,  his  own  sanctum,  he  turned  out  his  secretary  ruth- 
lessly, and  locked  the  door.  He  sat  in  his  leather  chair 
in  front  of  the  open  table,  covered  with  letters  and  books 
of  reference.  It  was  before  this  table  that  he  had  built 
up  the  fortunes  of  the  great  corporation  at  whose  head 
he  was.  He  sat  there  now,  erect  in  his  chair,  with  his 
hands  stretched  out  on  the  table  before  him,  and  his 
eyes  looking  through  the  frosted  panes  of  glass  opposite. 
Was  there  any  compromise,  he  asked  himself,  —  any 
possible  compromise?  Again  he  was  looking  into  the 
gloomy  court.  Again  he  saw  the  white  face  of  the  man 
who  so  short  a  time  ago  had  sat  in  this  very  room,  only 
a  few  feet  away,  and  had  begged  so  hard  for  his  chance ! 
The  whole  scene  came  flashing  back  to  Deane  as  he  sat 
there.  How  much  of  blame,  after  all,  was  his?  He  had 


54  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

not  suggested  violence.  He  refused  even  to  admit  that  it 
had  entered  into  his  head.  Yet  he  had  known  what 
manner  of  men  these  two  were !  He  had  known,  and 
their  meeting  had  been  all  his  making!  Never  in  this 
world  would  he  be  able  to  escape  from  the  responsibility 
of  it,  —  never  in  this  world  would  he  be  able  to  hear 
those  awful  words  without  a  sense  of  real  and  personal 
guilt,  — "  And  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  upon  your 
soul!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

WINIFRED    ROWAN 

THE  clerk  who  brought  in  the  little  slip  of  paper 
was  both  timid  and  apologetic.  He  felt  himself 
between  two  fires.  The  young  lady  outside  had  been  a 
little  more  than  insistent.  The  man  into  whose  presence 
he  had  come  was  one  who  never  forgave  a  mistake. 

"You  will  pardon  me,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  hope  that  I 
have  not  done  wrong.  The  young  lady  outside  positively 
declined  to  go  away  until  she  had  seen  you.  I  thought 
that  I  had  better  at  least  bring  you  in  her  name.  I  remem- 
bered that  a  few  weeks  ago  you  saw  a  gentleman  of  the 
same  name,  although  it  was  one  of  your  busiest  mornings." 

Deane  held  out  his  hand,  frowning.  "A  young  lady," 
he  remarked  shortly.  "  Well  ?  " 

He  took  the  little  slip  of  paper  into  his  hands,  and  read 
—  Winifred  Rowan,  He  looked  up  into  the  clerk's  im- 
passive face,  and  back  again  at  the  slip  of  paper.  "The 
young  lady  is  waiting  outside?"  he  asked. 

"  She  is  outside,  sir,"  the  clerk  answered.  "  I  explained 
to  her  that  you  were  not  in  the  habit  of  seeing  any  callers 
except  by  appointment,  and  I  begged  her  to  write  and 


56  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

fix  a  time,  if  she  really  had  business  with  you.  She  de- 
clared, however,  that  the  matter  was  an  urgent  one.  Mr. 
Sawday  and  I  both  heard  what  she  had  to  say,  sir,  and 
we  thought  it  best  that  I  should  bring  you  in  her  name." 

Deane  nodded  slowly.  "I  daresay  you  were  right, 
Gray,"  he  said.  "Since  the  young  lady  is  so  persistent, 
you  had  better  show  her  in.  See  that  I  am  not  disturbed 
again  this  afternoon,  however.  I  have  a  good  deal  to  do." 

The  clerk  departed  with  a  great  weight  off  his  mind. 
It  was  obvious  that  he  had  done  the  right  thing.  He  left 
the  door  ajar,  and  Deane  sat  with  his  hands  clenching 
the  sides  of  his  luxuriously  padded  writing  chair.  Wini- 
fred Rowan !  It  was  a  relative,  then,  —  most  likely  the 
sister  of  whom  he  had  spoken.  What  was  he  to  say  or 
do?  How  much  was  he  to  admit?  Perhaps  she  had 
brought  him  a  message.  Perhaps  she  could  tell  him  the 
one  thing  which  he  was  on  fire  to  know.  Winifred  Rowan ! 
Half  unconsciously  he  uttered  the  name  aloud.  What 
sort  of  a  woman  would  she  be,  or  girl,  or  child  ?  He  had 
no  knowledge  of  Rowan  save  as  a  fellow  adventurer,  a 
seeker  after  fortune  in  a  strange  land,  a  brave  man,  will- 
ing always  to  take  his  life  into  his  hands  if  the  goal  were 
worthy.  Perhaps  it  might  be  that  she  had  been  with  him. 
Perhaps  she  was  bringing  a  message. 

He  heard  the  murmur  of  voices  outside.  The  door 
was  pushed  open.  The  clerk  stood  on  one  side. 


WINIFRED   ROWAN  57 

"This  is  the  young  lady,  sir,"  he  announced,  —  "Miss 
Winifred  Rowan." 

Deane  rose  for  a  moment  to  his  feet.  The  clerk,  with 
a  little  deferential  movement,  closed  the  door  and  de- 
parted. They  were  alone  in  the  room  together.  Deane, 
whose  self-control  was  one  of  the  personal  character- 
istics which  had  counted  for  something  in  his  rapid  access 
to  prosperity,  felt  a  nerveless  exclamation  break  from 
his  lips.  The  girl  who  came  so  slowly  into  the  room 
seemed  so  perfectly  to  represent  what  Rowan  himself 
might  have  become.  She  was  an  idealized  likeness  of 
the  man  by  whose  side  he  had  fought  and  suffered  and 
rejoiced,  the  man  who  only  a  few  weeks  ago  had  stood 
in  her  place  and  made  his  desperate  appeal,  —  an  ideal- 
ized likeness,  perhaps,  in  more  ways  than  one.  She  was 
younger,  and  the  stress  of  life  had  only  lately  set  its  mark 
upon  her.  She  was  fair,  as  he  was  fair,  with  gray-blue 
eyes,  brown  hair,  and  quivering  lips,  a  figure  slim  and 
yet  pliant,  a  manner,  even  in  silence,  appealing,  —  en- 
ticing. Deane  felt  himself  curiously  moved  at  the  sight 
of  her.  Then  he  remembered  suddenly  how  great  was 
his  need  of  self-control.  She  was  the  sister  of  this  man 
who  lay  under  sentence  of  death.  Perhaps  she  had  come 
to  plead  for  his  help.  He  must  be  careful.  All  the  time 
he  must  be  careful ! 

"You  wish  to  see  me?"    he  asked,  a  little  brusquely. 


58  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"I  am  Stirling  Deane.     Will  you  take  a  chair,  and  tell 

me  in  as  few  words  as  you  can  what  you  want?" 

She  ignored  his  gesture  of  invitation.  She  came  on 
until  she  had  reached  the  table  before  which  he  was 
seated.  Then  she  leaned  across,  and  the  light  of  her  eyes, 
the  very  insistence  of  her  presence,  seemed  like  things 
from  which  no  escape  was  possible. 

"Mr.  Deane,"  she  said,  "I  am  Basil  Rowan's  sister. 
I  have  come  from  the  Old  Bailey  prison.  I  have  come," 
she  added,  with  faltering  voice,  and  a  sudden  new  terror 
in  her  face,  "from  the  condemned  cell." 

Deane  had  a  reserve  stock  of  courage  to  draw  upon, 
and  he  drew  upon  it  freely.  He  looked  at  her  with  up- 
raised eyebrows.  "You  have  come  to  me,"  he  repeated. 
"Why?" 

"First  of  all,  then,"  she  answered,  "I  will  tell  you 
why." 

"I  think,"  he  interrupted,  "that  you  had  better  take 
a  seat." 

She  seemed,  indeed,  in  need  of  some  support.  She 
sank  into  the  chair  which  he  had  indicated.  It  was  close 
to  his  side,  and  yet  placed  so  that  the  light  which  fell 
upon  her  face  left  him  in  the  shadow. 

"You  have  come  from  your  brother,"  he  said.  "Do 
I  understand  that  he  sent  you  —  that  he  knew  you  were 
coming  to  me?" 


WINIFRED   ROWAN  59 

"Yes!"  she  answered.  "He  told  me  to  be  very  care- 
ful, to  be  sure  that  no  one  else  knew,  and  never  to  men- 
tion your  name,  but  I  have  come  at  his  bidding." 

"Very  well,"  Deane  said,  "I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  your 
message." 

"He  gave  me  no  explanation,"  she  said.  "He  allowed 
me  to  ask  for  none.  He  told  me  to  come  to  you  and  say 
this.  There  is  no  one,"  she  asked,  in  a  lower  tone,  looking 
nervously  around,  "who  could  possibly  overhear  us?" 

"Not  a  soul." 

"He  told  me  to  say,"  she  continued,  leaning  forward, 
and  with  her  eyes  suddenly  a  little  distended,  "that  he 
had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  man  of  whom  you  two 
had  spoken  —  the  man  whom  you  used  to  call  Bully 
Sinclair.  He  spent  the  evening  with  him,  drank  with 
him,  went  back  to  his  hotel  by  invitation.  Then  he  tried 
very  carefully  to  open  up  negotiations.  Sinclair  became 
at  once  suspicious.  He  was  very  violent,  and  declined 
to  discuss  the  matter  at  all.  He  swore  all  the  time  that 
he  had  been  robbed,  and  that  he  was  going  to  have  his 
revenge.  My  brother  tried  to  reason  with  him,  and  in 
the  end  they  quarrelled.  It  was  Sinclair  who  struck 
Basil.  My  brother  only  returned  the  blow.  And  then 
he  told  me  to  say  that  before  he  could  search  him,  before 
he  could  search  the  room,  he  found  that  the  man  was 
dead." 


60  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"Anything  else?"  Deane  asked. 

"He  told  me  to  say  that  any  papers  which  the  man 
Sinclair  might  have  had  must  be  in  the  room  among  his 
effects,  which  have  all  been  put  together,  and  are  still 
there,  locked  up,  waiting  for  someone  to  come  and  claim 
them.  He  told  me  to  say  that  he  had  done  his  best,  and 
that  whatever  the  consequences  might  be  he  was  ready 
to  face  them.  If  you  cared  to  run  risks,  the  number  of 
the  room  at  the  Universal  Hotel  is  27.  It  is  locked  and 
guarded,  but  there  might  be  ways.  That  is  what  he 
said." 

Deane  leaned  a  little  forward  across  the  table.  "But 
of  himself?"  he  demanded.  "Did  he  say  nothing  of 
himself?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "It  is  wonderful,"  she  said, 
"but  he  never  thinks  of  himself.  He  is  more  composed, 
more  cheerful,  than  when  I  bade  him  good-night  at 
Southampton,  the  day  he  left  home.  He  made  me  promise 
that  I  would  tell  you  these  things  first,  before  I  uttered 
a  word  on  my  own  account.  I  have  kept  my  promise. 
You  understand  what  I  have  told  you?" 

"Perfectly,"  Deane  answered. 

"Then  I  am  going  to  speak  to  you  now  on  my  own 
account,"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  to  his.  "  Mr.  Deane, 
I  do  not  pretend  to  be  a  clever  person,  but  one  thing  is 
perfectly  clear  to  me.  Basil  entered  into  this  adventure 


WINIFRED   ROWAN  61 

for  your  sake.  Your  name  was  never  mentioned  in  the 
trial,  and  they  all  seem  to  have  believed  that  it  was  to 
rob  Sinclair,  and  for  nothing  else,  that  Basil  went  there  that 
night.  Mr.  Deane,  I  don't  believe  it.  His  quarrel  with 
Sinclair,  and  its  awful  termination,  was  an  accident. 
You  must  come  forward  and  say  that  he  went  there  to 
serve  you,  and  not  for  purposes  of  robbery.  It  is  for  you 
to  save  his  life.  You  can  do  it,  and  he  is  my  only  brother." 

Deane's  eyebrows  came  a  little  closer  together.  The 
girl  who  looked  at  him  wondered  no  more  at  the  hopeless 
way  in  which  her  brother  had  spoken  of  this  man.  His 
face  was  as  though  it  were  carved  out  of  a  stone. 

"Miss  Rowan,"  he  said,  "if  there  is  anything  which 
I  can  do  for  your  brother,  I  will  do  it,  for  the  sake  of  the 
days  when  we  lived  together,  and  when  we  were  so  near 
the  very  heart  of  life  and  death.  But  I  tell  you  frankly 
that  I  see  very  little  chance  of  successful  intervention  on 
my  part.  It  takes  a  good  deal  in  this  country  to  stay  the 
arm  of  the  law,  and  your  brother  has  grievously  offended 
against  it." 

She  struck  the  table  before  which  he  sat,  with  the 
palm  of  her  hand.  "If  he  did,"  she  cried,  "it  was  for 
your  sake !  I  am  sure  of  it !  He  went  to  do  your  bidding, 
and  you  must  save  him ! " 

"May  I  ask,"  said  Deane,  "why  you  are  so  sure  that 
he  went  to  do  my  bidding?" 


62  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"Yes!  Ask,  if  you  will,  and  I  will  answer  you.  I 
know  it  because  this  was  the  real  point  of  all  his  message 
to  you.  This  was  what  I  had  to  say.  This  is  really  why 
I  have  come.  The  document  —  the  document,  mind,  — 
he  said  no  more,  but  he  told  me  to  make  this  very  clear 
to  you  —  the  document  is  in  a  worn  leather  case,  sewn 
inside  the  breast  pocket  of  the  coat  Sinclair  was  wearing 
when  he  died." 

Deane  drew  a  little  breath.  "Young  lady,"  he  said, 
"it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  been  unnecessarily  prolix. 
Your  brother  sent  you  here  to  tell  me  this?" 

"Yes!" 

"He  did  not  send  you  here,"  Deane  continued,  "to 
beg  for  help  —  to  waste  my  time  in  purposeless  recrimi- 
nations ?  " 

"No!"   she  answered  faintly. 

"He  knew  very  well,"  Deane  continued,  "that  no 
mortal  man  can  help  him.  The  trial  is  over  and  the  case 
is  lost.  The  only  thing  to  work  for  now  is  a  reprieve." 

"But  that  is  not  what  I  want,"  she  interrupted.  "He 
must  be  pardoned ! " 

"That,"  answered  Deane,  "is  impossible.  Neither  I 
nor  anyone  breathing  can  work  miracles." 

She  leaned  towards  him  with  accusing  eyes.  "But  it 
was  you,"  she  declared,  —  "it  was  you  for  whom  he 
undertook  this  enterprise!" 


WINIFRED   ROWAN  63 

Deane  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  My  dear  young  lady, " 
he  said,  "you  are  mistaken.  I  cannot  explain  to  you 
yet  the  full  significance  of  those  various  messages  which 
you  have  brought  me  from  your  brother,  but  believe  me, 
what  he  did,  he  did  knowing  well  the  risks  he  under- 
took, and  without  any  thought  or  hope  of  aid  from  me 
if  he  should  fail.  I  will  be  quite  honest  with  you,  if  you 
like.  I  will  tell  you  the  exact  truth.  Your  brother  and 
Sinclair  were  once  friends.  Sinclair  and  I  were  always 
enemies.  There  was  a  little  matter  of  business  open 
between  us,  and  I  thought  that  your  brother  might  very 
well  arrange  it.  I  had  no  idea  of  his  quarrelling  with 
Sinclair.  I  did  not  encourage  him  to  do  so  in  any  way." 

"You  sent  him  there,"  she  persisted  doggedly. 

"I  send  messengers  to  every  part  of  the  world,"  Deane 
answered,  "  but  I  do  not  incite  them  to  enter  into  murder- 
ous quarrels  with  the  people  whom  they  go  to  see.  I  will 
do  what  I  can  for  your  brother,  but  it  must  be  in  my  own 
way." 

"You  will  be  able  at  least  to  save  him  from  —  from  —  " 

Deane  held  out  his  hand.  "Of  course,"  he  answered. 
"You  need  not  think  about  that.  His  health  alone  would 
be  sufficient  to  put  that  out  of  the  question.  What  I  can 
do  for  him,  I  will.  I  promise  you  that." 

The  girl  rose  up,  and  held  out  her  hands  a  little  piteously. 
"Remember,"  she  begged,  "I  have  no  one  else  to  go  to, 


64  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

no  other  hope  but  in  you.  If  I  lose  Basil,  I  shall  be  alone 
in  the  world  ! " 

The  tears  were  in  her  eyes.  Every  line  of  her  face, 
every  feature,  seemed  to  be  pleading  with  him.  Deane 
led  her  to  the  door  himself.  His  tone  was  unusually  kind. 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  he  promised  once  more. 


CHAPTER  X 

AT    THE    THEATRE 

THE  door  had  barely  closed  upon  his  visitor  when 
Deane  was  back  once  more  in  the  throes  of  busi- 
ness, answering  questions,  giving  quotations,  receiving 
offers.  The  telephone  was  reconnected,  and  rang  out  its 
impatient  summons  every  few  seconds.  He  signed  half-a- 
dozen  drafts,  deputed  an  understudy  to  receive  some  of 
his  visitors  who  were  weary  of  waiting,  and  dictated  several 
important  letters.  When  once  more  the  pressure  had 
abated,  and  the  telephone  had  ceased  to  ring,  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  with  a  little  exclamation  of  relief.  The 
visit  of  Rowan's  sister,  and  her  passionate  appeal,  had 
unnerved  him  for  a  moment.  He  found  himself  trying  to 
recall  her  last  words,  even  at  the  moment  when  he  realized 
that  she  was  still  in  the  room,  sitting  at  a  distant  corner. 

"Miss  Rowan!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  I  thought  that 
you  had  left!" 

"I  went  as  far  as  the  outer  office,"  she  said  apologeti- 
cally, "and  then  I  slipped  back  again.  You  were  so  busy 
that  I  did  not  like  to  interrupt." 


66  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Deane  rose  to  his  feet,  —  he  was  a  little  cramped  from 
long  sitting.  He  lowered  the  blind  and  turned  on  the 
electric  light,  walking  around  the  room,  and  casually 
touching  the  door  to  see  that  it  was  closely  shut.  Then 
he  came  back  to  his  place,  and  leaned  over  once  more 
toward  the  girl.  "  Why  have  you  come  back  ?"  he  asked. 

"To  ask  you  a  question,"  she  answered. 

"Well?" 

"Basil  went  on  your  behalf  to  see  this  man,  Sinclair," 
she  said.  "He  had  a  commission  from  you,  had  he  not, 
and  he  failed?" 

"  Yes ! "  Deane  said.     "  He  failed ! " 

"It  was  to  make  an  offer  for  some  document,  was  it 
not?" 

Deane  nodded.    " Yes !"  he  said.    "It  was." 

"You  are  doing  your  best  for  Basil,"  she  said,  her  voice 
trembling  a  little.  "You  paid  for  his  defence,  I  know. 
You  have  promised  that  you  will  do  all  that  you  can, 
even  now.  I  thought,  perhaps,  I  might  be  able  to  do 
something  in  return.  Why  could  n't  I  get  this  paper  for 
you?" 

He  looked  at  her  steadily  for  several  moments.  "You 
could,"  he  answered,  "if  you  had  the  pluck." 

"Tell  me  how?"  she  asked. 

"You  are  his  sister,"  he  said.  "Presumably  you  are 
interested  in  his  defence.  The  details  of  the  struggle 


AT  THE  THEATRE  67 

between  those  two  are,  of  course,  important.  It  makes 
all  the  difference  between  manslaughter  and  murder  if 
a  weight,  for  instance,  be  held  in  the  hand  or  thrown. 
You  know  the  lawyers  who  defended  him?" 

"  Of  course,"  she  answered.    "  Go  on." 

"If  they  apply  to  the  proper  authorities,"  he  continued, 
"they  can  obtain  an  order  to  re-examine  the  apartments 
in  the  Universal  Hotel  in  which  the  struggle  took  place. 
No  doubt  you  also  could  find  your  way  there.  Supposing 
I  tell  you  the  truth.  Supposing  I  admit  that  your  brother 
did  take  upon  himself  a  desperate  enterprise,  and  that 
that  enterprise  was  to  recover  from  this  man  Sinclair,  by 
purchase  or  guile,  or  any  means  which  suggested  them- 
selves to  him,  the  pocket-book  of  which  you  have 
brought  me  news.  Remember  I  commit  myself  to  nothing. 
I  make  no  definite  statement.  I  simply  tell  you  that  it 
may  have  been  so." 

"It  was,"  she  said  firmly.  "You  and  I  know  that. 
Well?" 

"You  are  his  sister,"  Deane  said,  "and  you  have  ex- 
ceptional facilities.  If  you  could  gain  possession  of  that 
pocket-book,  you  would  be  doing  me  a  service  which  I 
should  find  it  hard  indeed  to  repay." 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  "Very  well,"  she  said,  "it  shall 
be  done.  I  promise  you  that  it  shall  be  done." 

For  the  first  time,  when  he  saw  her  standing  up,  and 


68  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

realized  how  frail  a  creature  she  really  was,  a  wave  of 
pity  swept  away  his  own  predominant  sense  of  self-interest. 

"  But  you  are  not  strong  enough  for  such  work  as  this," 
he  declared.  "Better  let  things  drift.  I  can  take  care 
of  myself." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  have  made  up  my  mind," 
she  said.  "I  am  going  to  make  my  effort,  whatever 
happens." 

"You  will  remember,"  he  said,  "that  my  name  must 
never  pass  your  lips.  No,  don't  look  at  me  like  that!" 
he  added  quickly.  "Don't  think  of  me  as  a  coward, 
or  an  utterly  selfish  person !  I  am  here  for  what  I  repre- 
sent. Welfare  in  this  concern  or  business  undertaking  — 
call  it  what  you  like  —  does  n't  mean  only  ruin  or  wealth 
for  me.  There  are  hundreds  of  us,  hundreds  who  are 
dependent  upon  the  reins  I  hold.  It  is  n't  for  myself  so 
much  that  I  care.  Try  and  believe  that,  will  you?" 

She  looked  into  his  eyes.  "I  will,"  she  murmured. 
"I  will  believe  everything,  but  you  must  save  Basil." 

"Whether  you  bring  me  the  pocket-book  or  not,"  he 
answered,  "I  shall  assuredly  do  all  that  a  man  can  do 
for  him." 

For  the  rest  of  the  day,  Stirling  Deane  was  his  normal 
self.  He  transacted  business  with  his  usual  acumen.  He 
received  his  callers,  and  went  through  the  ordinary  routine 


AT  THE  THEATRE  69 

of  his  position,  with  no  indication  of  any  mental  disturb- 
ance. He  had,  indeed,  little  time  to  spare  for  thought. 
At  half-past  six  he  was  whirled  away  westward  in  his 
electric  brougham,  changed  his  clothes,  dined  hurriedly 
in  his  room,  and  at  a  quarter  to  nine  was  in  the  stalls  of 
the  St.  James'  Theatre,  sitting  between  Lady  Olive  and 
her  mother.  The  mechanical  part  of  the  day's  arrange- 
ments he  had  found  it  easy  enough  to  carry  out,  but 
to  keep  his  thoughts  engrossed  upon  his  surroundings 
was  a  sheer  impossibility.  He  was  not  even  conscious 
when  the  curtain  went  down,  until  he  found  Lady  Olive's 
eyes  fixed  curiously  upon  him. 

"Stirling,"  she  said,  "I  don't  think  I  like  you  when 
you  have  been  at  the  office  all  day.  Tell  me,  what  can 
there  be  about  this  money-making  so  engrossing  that 
you  carry  it  about  with  you  after  you  have  finished  your 
work,  like  a  shadow?" 

He  was  at  once  duly  apologetic.  "  My  dear  Olive,"  he 
said,  "if  I  was  distrait  for  a  moment,  please  forgive  me. 
Consider.  It  is  not  my  occupation  alone  which  is  engross- 
ing. Supposing,  for  instance,  that  I  were  a  politician. 
Don't  you  think  that  I  should  be  better  employed  in 
thinking  over  an  impending  crisis  than  in  listening  to 
an  exceedingly  dull  play?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  admitted,  "but  crises  do  not  occur  in 
political  affairs  every  day.  I  might  even  be  vain  enough 


70  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

to  suggest  another  and  a  simpler  means  of  escape  from 

your  boredom." 

"I  am  very  justly  rebuked,"  he  admitted,  holding  her 
fingers  for  a  moment,  "only  you  must  remember  that  it 
is  new  for  me  to  have  so  delightful  a  means  of  escape 
ready  by  my  side.  Give  me  a  little  time  to  realize  my 
good  fortune." 

"So  long  as  it  does  n't  become  a  habit,"  she  murmured. 
"I  am  sure  I  am  not  exacting,  but  I  should  hate  to  feel 
that  you  were  always  so  engrossed  in  your  thoughts  that 
you  did  not  even  realize  whom  you  were  sitting  next." 

He  touched  her  fingers  once  more,  and  his  pressure 
was  gently  returned.  Then,  as  if  conscious  that  she  had 
been  a  little  more  than  ordinarily  complacent,  she  with- 
drew her  hand,  and  leaning  over  began  to  talk  with  her 
mother  about  some  people  whom  Deane  knew  nothing 
of.  A  man  from  behind  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 
He  looked  up  quickly  and  recognized  Hardaway. 

"Come  and  have  a  cigarette,"  the  lawyer  said.  "It 
is  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  interval,  and  I  should  like  to 
have  a  word  with  you." 

Deane  excused  himself  to  his  companions,  and  joined 
his  friend  in  the  foyer.  "Well?"  he  asked  tersely. 

Hardaway  toyed  with  a  cigarette  case,  and  glanced 
quietly  around.  He  was  tall  and  thin,  clean-shaven,  with 
hard,  pronounced  features  and  sunken  eyes,  gray  hair 


AT  THE  THEATRE  71 

parted  in  the  middle,  and  a  single  eyeglass  suspended 
around  his  neck  by  a  narrow  black  ribbon.  He  looked 
exactly  what  he  was  —  a  criminal  lawyer. 

"I  wanted  to  have  a  word  with  you,  Deane,"  he  said, 
"about  this  Rowan  case." 

Deane  nodded.    "Is  there  anything  fresh?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing  particular,"  the  lawyer  answered.  "Come 
upstairs  for  a  moment." 

They  found  a  corner  of  the  refreshment  room  where 
no  one  else  was  within  hearing.  Deane  lit  his  cigarette 
with  perfectly  steady  fingers.  There  was  nothing  in  his 
face  to  indicate  the  fierce  anxiety  which  was  consuming 
him. 

"With  reference  to  that  case,"  his  companion  com- 
menced, "  the  facts  were  all  so  simple  that  there  was  no 
need  for  the  prosecution  to  consider  any  other  motive 
than  the  obvious  one  of  attempted  robbery.  Therefore, 
no  very  searching  investigation  has  been  made  into  the 
dead  man's  papers.  Yesterday  afternoon,  it  occurred  to 
me  to  look  them  through  once  more,  in  case  anything 
had  been  overlooked.  I  came  across  a  clumsy  sort  of 
document  purporting  to  be  the  deeds  of  a  gold-mine.  I 
should  not  have  taken  any  particular  notice  of  it  but 
for  the  title  of  the  mine." 

"Well?" 

"It  was  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine,"  Hardaway  con- 


72  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

tinued.  "These  deeds  stated  that  Sinclair  himself  was 
the  sole  owner." 

"A  very  extraordinary  document,"  Deane  remarked. 
"I  suppose  you  couldn't  manage  things  so  that  I  could 
have  a  look  at  it?" 

"It  would  be  quite  impossible,"  the  lawyer  answered. 
"Mine  was,  of  course,  a  privileged  inspection,  and  I  am 
going  beyond  my  duty  in  mentioning  this  affair  to  you. 
It  certainly  did  seem  very  singular." 

"Especially,"  Deane  remarked,  with  a  faint,  hard 
smile,  "since  you  are  in  a  position  to  know  that  I  have 
paid  for  the  defence  of  the  prisoner." 

"It  is  not  my  business  to  connect  such  facts,"  the  lawyer 
remarked. 

"Someone  will  appear  upon  the  scene  sooner  or  later, 
of  course,"  Deane  said,  "and  claim  this  man's  effects." 

"Naturally,"  Hardaway  answered,  "although,  except 
for  this  rather  remarkable  document,  they  do  not  seem 
to  have  been  very  valuable." 

"If  you  should  hear  of  anyone,"  said  Deane,  "I  should 
be  glad  if  you  would  let  me  know  without  a  second's 
delay." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  the  lawyer  promised. 

The  bell  tinkled.  The  men  at  the  bar  finished  their 
drinks,  threw  away  their  cigarettes,  and  hurried  off. 
Deane  and  his  companion  rose  to  their  feet. 


AT  THE  THEATRE  73 

"Hardaway,"  Deane  said,  "some  of  the  papers  are 
talking  about  a  reprieve  for  this  man  Rowan.  Will  it 
come  to  anything,  do  you  think?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  the  lawyer  answered  cautiously. 

They  moved  along  the  passage  leading  down  to  the 
stalls.  Deane  held  his  companion  back  until  the  little 
throng  of  hurrying  men  had  passed  by. 

"Listen,  Hardaway,"  he  said,  "I  speak  to  you  as  one 
speaks  to  the  dead,  because  you  know  the  secrets  of 
your  profession,  and  because  I  trust  you.  Is  there  any 
way  in  which  a  man  of  great  wealth,  who  had  the  com- 
mand of  money  say  up  to  fifty  thousand  pounds,  —  is 
there  any  way  in  which  such  a  man  could  help  towards 
obtaining  a  reprieve?" 

Hardaway  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "Of  course,"  he 
admitted,  "influence  is  always  a  useful  thing.  Those 
who  have  the  ruling  of  these  matters  are  sometimes  hesi- 
tating between  two  minds.  A  very  straw  might  turn  the 
balance." 

Deane  nodded  his  head.  He  looked  for  a  moment 
behind.  His  hand  rested  upon  the  curtain  which  led 
into  the  stalls.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  sight.  The  play 
had  recommenced. 

"  Hardaway,"  he  said,  "  I  will  give  fifty  thousand  pounds, 
if  necessary,  to  have  that  man  reprieved.  The  verdict 
should  have  been  one  of  manslaughter.  I  am  convinced 


74  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

of  that.  I  was  in  court.  I  heard  the  sentence.  I  saw 
Rowan's  face.  I  saw  the  judge  put  on  the  black  cap, 
and  I  heard  those  hateful  words.  Up  to  fifty  thousand 
pounds,  mind,  Hardaway,  and  I  sha'n't  have  your  bill 
of  costs  taxed."  .  .  . 

Lady  Olive  was  almost  petulant.  "What  a  time  you 
have  been,  Stirling!"  she  said. 

"Do  forgive  me,"  he  begged.  "I  met  a  man  outside 
who  kept  me  gossiping  about  trifles.  Tell  me,  do  you 
think  that  we  can  persuade  your  mother  to  come  out  to 
supper?" 

"We've  nowhere  else  to  go,"  Lady  Olive  answered. 
"Do  see  if  you  can  talk  her  into  it.  It  would  be  very 
pleasant." 

"I'll  try,"  he  promised. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AN    APPEAL 

A  MORNING  paper,  apparently  in  lack  of  a  new 
sensation,  suddenly  took  up  the  cause  of  Basil 
Rowan.  An  evening  paper,  conducted  under  the  same 
auspices,  promptly  followed  suit.  This  was  a  case,  they 
both  declared,  of  obvious  manslaughter.  The  evidence 
clearly  pointed  to  a  quarrel  between  the  two  men.  A 
prominent  criminal  lawyer  allowed  his  name  to  be  as- 
sociated with  what  rapidly  grew  to  be  an  agitation.  Peti- 
tions began  to  appear.  The  Home  Secretary  was  bom- 
barded with  documents.  Everywhere  people  were  saying 
that  the  man  should  never  have  been  put  on  his  trial  for 
murder.  The  jury  had  been  confused  by  their  instructions. 
It  was  a  case  of  manslaughter,  pure  and  simple. 

Three  days  after  her  first  visit,  Winifred  Rowan  sat 
once  more  in  Deane's  office.  There  were  lines  under- 
neath her  eyes.  She  seemed  to  have  become  thinner  and 
more  fragile.  Deane  himself,  save  that  he  was  a  trifle 
paler,  was  unchanged,  —  carefully  dressed  as  usual,  and 
with  unruffled  demeanor.  He  sat  in  his  accustomed  place, 


76  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

and  guided  the  destinies  of  those  great  affairs  which  lay 
under  his  control.  For  the  moment  he  had  relaxed.  He 
was  doing  his  best  to  console  the  girl  who  had  come  to 
him  in  a  sudden  whirl  of  terror. 

"My  dear  Miss  Rowan,"  he  said,  "I  have  certain  in- 
telligence from  my  friends.  I  have  gone  to  great  lengths 
in  this  matter,  and  I  can  assure  you  that  there  is  not  the 
slightest  doubt  about  a  reprieve  being  forthcoming." 

She  glanced  at  the  calendar.  "But  think,"  she  said, 
"already  for  three  days  he  has  lain  there,  sentenced  to 
death.  Think  of  what  he  must  be  suffering.  Oh,  it  is 
horrible!  It  isn't  only  death,"  she  cried.  "Think  of 
the  manner  of  it,  —  the  hideous  disgrace,  the  cruel,  cold 
ugliness  of  it !  Oh,  if  it  should  come  — " 

He  held  out  his  hand.  She  was  on  the  verge  of  hysteria. 
"It  shall  not  come,"  he  declared  firmly.  "I  have  prom- 
ised you  that." 

"If  they  are  going  to  reprieve  him,"  she  continued, 
"  why  do  they  let  him  suffer  these  agonies  ?  Why  do  they 
not  tell  him  so  at  once?  I  saw  him  this  morning.  He 
says  nothing.  He  is  as  brave  as  a  man  can  be,  but  his 
eyes  are  awful,  and  when  he  tries  to  speak  his  voice  dies 
away.  Oh!  Mr.  Deane,  do  something!  Oh!  do  some- 
thing!" 

She  laid  her  hands  suddenly  upon  his  shoulders.  He 
took  them  gently  in  his. 


AN  APPEAL  77 

"  My  dear  Miss  Rowan,  I  am  doing  everything  that  man 
can  do.  Believe  me  that  I  am.  I  only  wish  that  your 
brother  had  done  as  he  threatened,  and  walked  into  the 
river,  before  he  came  to  me." 

She  went  away  at  last.  Deane  lay  back  in  his  chair, 
feeling  absolutely  unfit  for  work.  Twice  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  telephone,  and  twice  he  withdrew  it.  Then  he 
turned  to  his  secretary,  who  had  just  entered  the  room. 

"  Get  Mr.  Hardaway  upon  the  telephone,"  he  directed. 
"I  want  to  speak  to  him." 

In  a  few  moments  the  bell  of  the  instrument  by  his  side 
tinkled.  He  put  the  receiver  to  his  ear. 

"Is  that  Hardaway?"  he  asked. 

"Yes!"  was  the  answer. 

"This  is  Stirling  Deane.  You  remember  the  subject 
of  our  conversation  the  other  night  at  the  theatre?  I 
am  referring  now  to  the  matter  of  documents  of  which 
you  spoke." 

"I  remember,"  Hardaway  answered. 

"In  whose  possession  are  those  documents  at  the  pres- 
ent moment?"  Deane  asked. 

"In  whose  possession,"  Hardaway  repeated.  "Do  you 
mean — " 

"I  mean  have  they  been  sent  to  Scotland  Yard,  or  are 
they  still  in  that  locked-up  room  at  the  Universal  Hotel?" 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.     Then  Hardaway  an- 


78  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

swered.  "To  the  best  of  my  belief,"  he  said,  "they  are 
still  in  the  room  at  the  hotel.  They  may  be  removed  to 
Scotland  Yard  at  any  time,  though." 

"No  one  has  yet  claimed  Sinclair's  effects,  then?" 
asked  Deane. 

"No  one,"  was  the  answer. 

Deane  was  on  the  point  of  ringing  off,  but  Hardaway 
suddenly  put  a  question  to  him.  "Shall  you  be  in  your 
office  for  ten  minutes,  Mr.  Deane?" 

"For  longer  than  that,"  Deane  answered. 

"I  am  coming  around,"  the  lawyer  said.  "I  hope  you 
can  spare  me  a  moment." 

Deane  set  down  the  telephone  with  a  frown.  Perhaps 
his  question  had  been  a  clumsy  one,  or  was  Hardaway 
already  suspicious?  He  welcomed  the  lawyer,  when  he 
arrived,  a  little  coldly. 

"Five  minutes,  please,"  he  said.  "I  have  a  large  mail 
to  go  through,  and  an  early  dinner-party  to-night." 

The  lawyer  nodded.  "I  don't  want  to  detain  you, 
Deane,"  he  said.  "Send  your  secretary  away  for  a  mo- 
ment, there  's  a  good  fellow.  What  I  have  to  say  can  be 
said  in  half-a-dozen  words  if  we  are  alone." 

Deane  pointed  to  the  door.  "One  moment,  if  you 
please,  Ellison,"  he  said.  "Get  everything  ready  for  me 
that  you  can." 

The  two  men  were  alone.     Hardaway,  who  had  not 


AN  APPEAL  79 

taken  a  seat,  deliberately  drew  off  his  glove,  and  tapped 
the  table  with  his  fingertips. 

"Deane,"  he  said,  "have  you  any  idea  of  paying  a  visit 
to  the  Universal  Hotel?" 

Deane  met  him  on  his  own  ground,  coolly,  and  with 
perfect  self-possession.  "I  have  not  made  up  my  mind," 
he  said.  "It  might  be  worth  it." 

"  It  would  n't,"  the  lawyer  said.  "  There  's  nothing 
haphazard  about  the  way  these  things  are  conducted. 
There  's  a  detective  watching  Number  27,  day  and  night." 

"It  occurred  to  me,"  Deane  remarked,  "that  as  there 
is  no  mystery  about  this  affair,  Scotland  Yard  would  not 
have  thought  that  necessary." 

"It  is  as  I  have  told  you,"  said  Hardaway.  "At  any 
time  after  to-morrow,  the  man's  clothing  and  documents, 
and  everything  belonging  to  him,  will  be  removed,  unless 
they  are  claimed.  Until  they  are  claimed  they  are  watched. 
It  would  n't  do,  Deane,  for  a  man  in  your  position  to  be 
seen  in  this  place,  especially  when  one  of  those  papers 
bears  the  name  of  your  mine,  and  Sinclair  has  just  been 
murdered  by  a  man  for  whose  defence  you  have  paid." 

"That's  plain  speaking,"  Deane  remarked. 

"  It 's  what  I  came  to  say,"  Hardaway  answered. 
"Don't  do  it,  Deane.  We  are  not  in  Africa,  you  know. 
Your  methods  were  splendid  there.  They  might  spell 
ruin  here.  Good-night!" 


80  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"The  reprieve?"  Deane  asked. 

"A  certainty,"  Hardaway  answered,  looking  back  from 
the  door.  "It  may  be  a  week  before  it  is  issued,  but  it  is 
a  certainty  all  the  same." 

Deane  sat  in  his  chair,  looking  through  the  dusty  win- 
dow out  into  the  court,  —  a  dull  vista  enough,  and  un- 
inspiring. Of  the  lawyer's  words  he  took  little  enough 
notice.  The  reprieve  would  come,  of  that  he  was  certain, 
but  nevertheless  he  was  beginning  to  feel  the  severity  of 
the  strain.  He  was  a  man  who  would  have  been  kind- 
hearted  but  for  the  continual  pressure  of  business  obliga- 
tions. He  was  a  great  schemer,  a  man  of  imagination,  and 
a  brilliant  financier.  There  had  been  little  room  in  his 
life  for  the  gentler  side  of  his  nature  to  develop.  Yet  it 
had  been  a  genuine  horror  which  he  had  felt,  which  he 
had  carried  about  with  him  since  the  day  he  had  visited 
the  court  and  looked  into  Rowan's  white  face,  and  heard 
those  awful  words  of  condemnation  amid  a  silence  in- 
tense, unnatural,  hideous.  It  was  a  memory  from  which 
he  could  not  easily  rid  himself,  a  memory  which  had 
penetrated  even  that  splendid  armor  of  indifference  in 
which  the  man  of  toil  and  thought  gradually  encases 
himself.  The  girl's  white  face,  too,  and  her  plaintive  eyes, 
had  touched  his  heart.  He  felt  that  this  period  of  suspense 
was  growing  almost  unendurable ! 

His  secretary  entered  the  room  quietly.    "  Did  you  wish 


AN  APPEAL  81 

me  to  make  any  arrangements,  sir,"  he  asked,  "for  the 
journey  to  Scotland?" 

Deane  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  as  a  man  without 
understanding.  Then  he  suddenly  remembered  that  to- 
morrow was  the  day  on  which  he  was  to  leave  London  to 
join  the  Nunneley's  house-party. 

"I  am  not  sure,  Ellison,"  he  said  doubtfully.  "I  will 
let  you  know  in  a  few  minutes." 

Once  more  he  was  alone.  More  impossible,  even,  than 
the  grim  monotony  of  the  days  in  town  seemed  the  thought 
of  that  prim  country  house,  with  its  well-ordered  days, 
its  fashionable,  easy-going  crowd  of  people.  He  suddenly 
lost  heart  as  he  thought  of  Lady  Olive  and  the  prosecu- 
tion of  his  well-ordered  courtship.  These  things  for  the 
moment  he  felt  were  impossible.  He  wrote  out  a  tele- 
gram and  sent  for  a  Bradshaw.  The  next  day  he  dis- 
appeared from  London. 


CHAPTER  XH 

RUBY    SINCLAIR 

TWENTY-FOUR  hours  later,  Deane  walked  upon 
a  wilderness  of  marshy  sands,  glittering  here  and 
there  with  the  stain  of  the  sea,  blue  in  places  with  the  deli- 
cate flush  of  sea  lavender.  In  the  background,  a  village 
of  red-tiled  roofs.  Before  him,  an  empty  sea.  Behind  and 
around,  nothing  but  this  stretch  of  bare,  flat  country, 
empty  even  of  the  sea  until  the  tide  should  come  and 
thrust  its  long  arms  of  glittering  silver  up  into  the  heart 
of  the  land.  A  few  wandering  gulls  screamed  overhead. 
From  inland,  a  great  silence.  Here,  too,  the  sea,  flowing 
in  upon  the  level  sands,  was  quiet  and  noiseless.  Deane 
felt  every  nerve  of  his  body  at  rest.  He  realized  to  the  full 
the  marvelous  joy  of  solitude.  All  the  strain  of  those 
last  few  days  seemed  to  have  fallen  away.  He  looked 
back  upon  that  passionate  chapter  of  his  life  as  a  stranger 
might  look  back  upon  recorded  happenings.  The  tragedy 
of  Basil  Rowan,  condemned  to  death  amid  the  awful 
silence  of  that  spell-bound  court,  sitting  now  in  his  cell 
with  his  head  turned  toward  the  door,  passing  through 


RUBY  SINCLAIR  83 

long  hours  of  torture  waiting  for  the  reprieve  which  might 
never  come,  appealed  to  him  now  only  as  it  might  appeal 
to  a  million  others  who  read  the  newspapers.  He  was 
almost  able  to  forget  that  it  was  he  in  a  measure  who  was 
responsible  for  that  episode.  He  was  able,  even,  to  for- 
get the  tragical  side  of  Winifred  Rowan's  visits,  —  to 
remember  only  her  gentle,  appealing  ways,  her  passionate 
pleading,  her  gratitude,  tempered  still  with  anxiety,  which 
had  triumphed  at  their  last  interview  over  the  repug- 
nance which  she  had  at  first  plainly  shown  towards  him. 
All  these  doings  and  happenings  were  of  another  world. 
Here,  trouble  and  anxiety  were  like  the  noxious  playthings 
of  a  race  of  children.  The  sea  that  rippled  in  so  softly 
on  to  the  firm  sands  remained  untroubled.  The  seagulls 
wheeling  above  his  head  in  lazy  content  filled  the  air  with 
their  soothing  cries.  Everywhere  the  sunshine  lay  about 
the  sea-stained  places.  The  green  marshes  sparkled  like 
emeralds.  The  wet  seaweed,  lying  about  in  little  heaps, 
seemed  struggling  to  express  new  subtleties  of  color.  Down 
one  of  the  reaches  came  a  brown-sailed  fishing-boat, 
steered  by  a  man  who  lay  at  full  length  upon  the  deck, 
his  head  upon  a  coil  of  rope,  one  hand  only  grasping  the 
tiller.  A  few  cows  were  standing  about  in  the  drier  part 
of  the  marshes,  swinging  their  tails,  and  moving  slowly 
from  one  to  another  of  the  little  plots  of  herbage.  The 
very  smoke  from  those  red-tiled  cottages  went  straight 


84  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

to  Heaven,  unruffled  by  even  the  faintest  of  breezes.  To 
Deane  it  seemed  that  he  had  found  an  idyll  of  still  life, 
and  with  a  strong  instinct  of  relief,  he  felt  the  desire  for 
sleep,  so  long  denied  him,  creeping  over  his  hot  eyes.  The 
drowsiness  of  the  place  numbed  his  senses.  The  pain 
ceased.  He  was  content  to  forget.  He  threw  himself 
upon  the  sands,  with  his  back  to  a  sandy  knoll  covered 
with  weedy  green  grass,  and  with  the  murmur  of  the  sea 
in  his  ears,  he  slept. 

Deane  was  awakened  by  a  light  touch  upon  his  arm. 
He  sat  up,  and  was  aware  of  a  girl  bending  over  him. 

"I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  she  said,  "but  if  you  sit 
there  for  another  five  minutes,  you  will  be  very  wet." 

The  tide  was  already  within  a  few  feet  of  them.  Deane 
realized  the  position  and  struggled  to  his  feet.  "It 
was  very  kind  of  you  to  wake  me,"  he  said.  "I 
have  come  down  here  for  a  rest,  and  I  suppose  I  was 
entering  into  the  programme  a  little  too  thoroughly. 
After  London,  the  sea  air  is  just  a  little  strong." 

She  looked  at  him  with  interest,  and  he  returned  the 
gaze.  She  was  tall  —  almost  as  tall  as  he  was  himself  — 
slim,  with  dark  eyes,  heavy  eyebrows,  and  complexion 
burnt  brown  by  exposure  to  all  sorts  of  weathers.  She 
wore  plain  tweed  clothes,  in  the  cut  of  which  his  critical 
eye  quickly  detected  the  village  tailor.  Yet  there  was 


RUBY  SINCLAIR  85 

something  about  her  appearance  which  seemed  to  remove 
her  definitely  from  behind  the  pale  of  rusticity.  Her  eyes 
were  long,  and  a  little  narrow,  her  eyelids  heavy,  her 
mouth  had  a  discontented  turn  at  the  corners,  her  whole 
expression  was  a  trifle  sullen.  He  was  not  in  the  least 
prepared  for  the  change  in  her  face  when  her  forehead 
suddenly  relaxed,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  softened,  and 
her  lips  parted  in  a  dazzling  smile. 

"You  are  a  Londoner?"  she  asked  simply. 

"Very  much  so,  I  am  afraid." 

"Afraid?"  she  repeated  incredulously. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.  " I  am  one  of  the  slaves  of  the 
world,  a  man  who  sits  in  his  office  and  toils,  year  in  and 
year  out.  We're  caught  in  the  Golden  Web,  you  see. 
The  time  comes,"  he  continued,  "when  we  find  our  way 
into  a  little  corner  of  the  earth  like  this,  and  one  realizes 
the  gigantic  folly  of  it." 

"Your  point  of  view  is  interesting  but  unconvincing," 
she  said. 

"Why  unconvincing?" 

"Have  you  ever  thought  of  the  matter  from  the  other 
point  of  view?"  she  asked,  —  "thought  about  those  poor 
people,  for  instance,  who  have  to  live  in  a  corner  of  the 
world  like  this,  always  ?  All  these  things,  which  rest  and 
soothe  you  here,  are  beautiful  by  sheer  force  of  contrast. 
For  a  few  days  —  a  week  or  so,  perhaps  —  the  contem- 


86  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

plation  of  them  would  be  restful.  You  would  lie  about 
on  the  sands  and  in  the  sunshine  and  believe  that  you  had 
found  Paradise.  And  then  I  think  that  you  would  begin 
to  get  just  a  little  discontented.  The  sun  does  n't  always 
shine  here,  you  know,  and  when  the  sun  does  n't  shine, 
all  the  land  is  colorless.  The  sea  is  gray  and  ugly,  the 
marshes  are  flat  and  dreary,  the  wind,  even  in  the  summer 
time,  is  cold." 

He  looked  at  her  with  interest.  She  had  turned  inland, 
walking  very  slowly,  and  he  somehow  or  other  found  him- 
self by  her  side,  her  self-invited  companion. 

"That  is  rather  a  pathetic  picture,"  he  said.  "Anyhow, 
the  solitude  remains,  and  when  one  has  lived  with  the 
roar  in  one's  brain,  year  in  and  year  out,  the  solitude  itself 
is  marvelous." 

"And  when  one  has  lived,"  she  said,  "with  the  solitude 
always  on  one's  nerves,  lying  about  one's  senses,  as  though 
one  were  the  only  live  thing  in  a  dead  and  forgotten  world, 
don't  you  think  that  one  may  long  for  the  roar,  even  as 
you  have  come  here  longing  for  the  solitude?" 

"We  apparently  represent  the  opposite  poles,"  he  re- 
marked lightly.  "Tell  me,  do  you  live  here?  I  presume, 
from  the  feeling  with  which  you  speak,  that  you  are  a 
native." 

"I  have  lived  here  for  nine  years,"  she  answered.  "I 
live  in  a  small  house,  which  you  can  see  just  behind  the 


RUBY  SINCLAIR  87 

village  there.  It  is  very  tiny,  but  very  pretty  to  look  at.  I 
have  lived  there  with  an  aunt  who  was  a  farmer's  daughter, 
and  is  very  domestic,  and  an  uncle  who  was  invalided 
early  in  life  from  the  Indian  Civil  Service,  and  who  has 
done  nothing  but  play  golf  and  fish  and  study  his  con- 
stitution for  the  last  fifteen  years." 

"You  don't  travel  much,  then?" 

"I  have  not  been  out  of  this  county,"  she  answered, 
"since  I  first  set  foot  in  it,  nine  years  ago.  I  had  almost 
given  up  all  hope  of  ever  leaving  it,  until,"  she  added, 
with  a  little  sigh  of  content,  "a  few  weeks  ago." 

He  nodded  sympathetically.  "You  are  going  to  travel 
at  last,  then?"  he  asked. 

"I  hope  so,"  she  said.  "I  have  an  uncle  come  home 
from  abroad,  who,  I  believe,  is  very  rich.  He  wrote  to 
me  the  day  he  landed,  saying  that  he  was  going  to  send 
for  me  to  pay  him  a  visit.  I  am  expecting  to  hear  from 
him  now  any  day." 

"He  is  in  London?" 

"In  London!"  with  a  little  sigh.  "Fancy,"  she  went 
on,  turning  towards  him,  "  I  have  never  been  in  London ! 
Just  say  that  to  yourself,  and  imagine  what  it  means. 
The  biggest  town  I  have  ever  seen  is  King's  Lynn.  Have 
you  ever  been  to  King's  Lynn?" 

He  shook  his  head.     "I  am  afraid  not." 

"Then  you  can't  understand,"  she  said,  —  "I  could  n't 


88  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

make  you  understand  —  what  it  means  to  me  to  think 
that  very  soon  I  shall  have  a  glimpse,  at  any  rate,  into  the 
world.  If  I  had  met  you  three  weeks  ago,  probably  I 
should  n't  have  dreamed  of  waking  you  up.  I  should 
have  let  you  get  wet  and  then  laughed  at  you.  If  you 
had  ventured  to  speak  to  me,  I  should  probably  have 
stuck  my  nose  in  the  air  and  walked  away.  You  see 
how  mellowing  an  influence  even  the  possibility  of  escape 
is." 

"What  a  disagreeable  young  person  you  must  have 
been!"  he  remarked. 

She  nodded.  They  were  walking  side  by  side  now  on 
the  top  of  a  tall  dyke.  On  their  left-hand  side  was  the 
creek  which  flowed  into  the  village  from  the  sea. 

"That  is  precisely  my  reputation,"  she  declared.  "My 
aunt  detests  me.  My  uncle  is  always  irritable  because  I 
can  beat  him  at  golf.  He  is  out  playing  over  there  now," 
she  remarked,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  toward  the  furthest 
stretch  of  the  marshes.  "Do  you  play  golf?" 

Deane  admitted  that  he  did  not. 

"You  came  here,  then,  only  to  rest?"  she  said. 

"Only  to  rest,"  he  answered. 

"Where  are  you  staying?" 

He  turned  around  and  pointed  to  the  square  stone  tower 
which  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  sea.  "  I  am  stopping  there," 
he  answered,  —  "  the  old  Coastguard's  Tower  they  call 


RUBY  SINCLAIR  89 

it,  I  believe.  It  is  the  queerest  habitation  I  have  ever 
been  in." 

"  You  wonderful  person ! "  she  declared.  "  How  ever 
did  you  get  old  Pegg  and  his  wife  to  clear  out?" 

"I  paid  them  well,"  he  answered.  "At  least  I  didn't 
do  it  myself.  My  servant  comes  from  these  parts,  and  he 
told  me  about  the  place  and  arranged  everything.  I  am 
hoping  to  be  able  to  buy  it." 

There  was,  as  he  had  remarked  from  the  first,  not  the 
slightest  reticence  about  her.  She  had  almost  the  frank- 
ness of  a  child. 

"You  have  a  servant?"  she  asked,  looking  at  him  with 
renewed  interest.  "Do  you  mean  that  he  is  there  with 
you  now?" 

Deane  nodded.  "I  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  cook 
for  myself,  could  I?"  he  inquired.  "He  completes  my 
establishment." 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  "you  are  a  rich  man." 

Deane  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Wealth,"  he  remarked, 
"is  a  relative  thing." 

"Oh!  I  don't  understand  those  fine  sayings!"  she  de- 
clared, a  little  impetuously.  "I  only  know  that  to  have 
money  is  grand,  is  wonderful.  I  would  give  anything  in 
the  world  to  be  rich,  to  have  money  to  spend  as  I  wanted 
to  spend  it,  and  clothes,  and  jewels,  and  all  the  delightful 
little  things  of  life,  to  go  where  I  wanted,  live  as  I  wished, 


90  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

buy  the  things  I  wanted  to  buy.  There  's  something  hide- 
ous about  being  a  pauper." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  She  was  certainly,  for 
all  her  frankness,  a  new  type.  Her  frankness  was  more 
the  frankness  of  a  child  than  the  outspokenness  of 
gaucherie. 

"Some  day,"  he  said,  "you  may  probably  have  your 
wish.  There  is  your  uncle,  for  instance." 

She  nodded.  "It  is  my  one  hope,"  she  said,  "my  one 
hope.  I  go  to  meet  the  postman  every  morning.  It  is 
three  weeks  since  he  wrote  and  said  that  he  was  going  to 
send  for  me.  You  don't  think  that  he  would  change  his 
mind?"  she  asked,  turning  suddenly  towards  him  with 
almost  tragic  intensity. 

"Very  unlikely,  I  should  say,"  he  answered.  "Has  he 
any  other  relatives?" 

"None,"  she  answered.  "Even  my  uncle  and  aunt 
with  whom  I  live  here  are  not  relatives  of  his.  You  see, 
he  was  my  father's  brother.  Mr.  Sarsby  was  my  mother's 
brother." 

"It  is  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sarsby  with  whom  you  live?"  he 
remarked. 

She  nodded.  "Yes!  And  my  name  is  Sinclair,"  she 
said,  —  "Ruby  Sinclair." 

He  stopped  short  for  a  minute  in  the  middle  of  the  dyke 
path.  She  was  walking  a  little  ahead,  and  missing  him  in 


RUBY  SINCLAIR  91 

a  few  moments,  turned  around.  He  was  standing  like  a 
man  turned  to  stone. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked.  "Are  you  tired,  or 
are  n't  you  well?" 

He  recovered  himself  with  a  little  effort.  "It  is  all 
right,"  he  said.  "You  know  I  told  you  I  'd  come  down 
here  to  recoup  a  little.  I  get  nervous  attacks.  I  was  sud- 
denly giddy  then." 

She  came  back.  Her  face  was  once  more  softened  in  its 
expression  of  kindly  concern.  "  Would  you  like  to  take 
my  arm?"  she  asked,  a  little  timidly.  "We  are  close  to 
the  cottage  now.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  come  in  and 
sit  down.  My  aunt  would  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"No !"  he  said.    "Let  us  rest  here  for  a  moment." 

They  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  high,  grassy  bank. 
He  tortured  himself,  gazing  into  her  face,  trying  to  find 
some  likeness  between  her  and  the  murdered  man.  There 
was  none,  he  told  himself,  —  none.  The  name  was  a 
common  one  —  one  of  the  commonest.  It  was  ridiculous 
to  connect  this  girl  in  any  way  with  the  tragedy  under 
whose  shadow  he  had  passed.  Yet  he  felt  his  fingers  ner- 
vously clutching  the  bank  upon  which  they  were  sitting. 
The  seagulls  still  wheeled  their  way  across  his  head.  The 
tide  was  flowing  softly  up  into  the  creek  below  them.  A 
fishing-boat  came  gliding  by.  A  lark  rose  almost  from 
their  feet,  and  was  singing  just  above  their  heads.  Every- 


92  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

where  around  was  peace  and  quiet.  It  was  the  same 
land  in  which  he  had  found  content  only  a  few  hours 
ago,  yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  already  the  shadow  had 
come. 

It  was  she  who  rose  first.  She  shook  out  her  skirts  a 
little  reluctantly,  and  turned  toward  the  village,  saying: 
"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  must  go.  Meals  at  our  house  are  the 
one  thing  more  certain  than  the  rising  of  the  sun.  We 
lunch  at  one,  and  it  is  ten  minutes  to.  Do  you  feel  well 
enough  to  get  back,  or  will  you  come  on  with  me?" 

"I  will  go  back,"  he  said.  "I  wonder,"  he  continued, 
"what  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "There  is  nothing,"  she 
answered.  "Come  out  here,  I  suppose,  and  pray  that  I 
may  have  a  letter  to-morrow  morning." 

"Be  unconventional,"  he  begged.  "Take  pity  upon  an 
invalid,  and  come  and  have  tea  with  me." 

"I  'd  love  to,"  she  answered,  " if  I  can  get  away.  About 
half-past  four?" 

"Yes,"  said  he.    "I  shall  be  waiting  for  you." 

"  Don't  come  to  meet  me,"  she  begged,  —  "  not  that  it 
matters,  of  course,  only  if  uncle  knew  that  you  were  stay- 
ing there,  and  that  you  came  from  London,  and  that  I  had 
talked  to  you,  he  would  want  to  come  and  call.  He  is  one 
of  those  fussy  people  who  like  to  hear  themselves  talk, 
and  to  make  acquaintances.  It 's  all  very  well  for  you  to 


RUBY  SINCLAIR  93 

shiver,"  she  added,  with  a  little  smile,  "  but  I  have  to  live 
with  him." 

With  a  laugh  he  said:  "I'll  hide,  until  I  see  you 
actually  before  the  door.  You  will  come,  though?" 

"  I  '11  come,"  she  promised,  turning  away  with  a  little 
wave  of  the  hand. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AN    INFORMAL    TEA-PARTY 

A^TER  all,  the  element  of  unconventionality  was  ab- 
sent from  Deane's  tea-party.  About  four  o'clock, 
looking  landwards  from  a  little  sandy  knoll  just  in  front 
of  his  strange  abode,  he  saw  two  figures  coming  along 
the  dyke  path.  A  few  minutes  later,  Ruby  Sinclair  and 
her  companion  came  across  the  last  little  strip  of  shingle, 
and  approached  the  spot  where  Deane  was  waiting  for 
them. 

"My  uncle  would  like  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Deane,"  she  said. 

Deane  held  out  his  hand  and  welcomed  his  visitor  —  a 
small,  fussy-looking  little  man  with  a  gray  moustache,  and 
a  somewhat  awkward  air  of  being  at  his  ease.  He  wore  a 
tweed  knickerbocker  suit,  —  very  old-fashioned,  and  of 
local  make,  —  a  flannel  collar,  and  an  ill-chosen  tie.  He 
shook  hands  with  his  host  in  a  perfunctory  sort  of  manner. 

"Thought  I  must  just  look  you  up,"  he  explained,  "liv- 
ing out  here.  Such  a  lonely  spot,  too !  You  are  going  to 
play  golf,  of  course?" 


AN   INFORMAL  TEA-PARTY  95 

Deane  shook  his  head.  "I  never  play,"  he  answered. 
"I  have  come  here  to  rest." 

To  rest!  The  word  seemed  a  strange  one  to  the  fussy 
little  man,  who  was  already  taking  stock  of  his  surround- 
ings. Photographs  in  silver  frames,  a  pile  of  books  —  all 
new,  a  gun  and  fishing-rod,  and  other  such  belongings  — 
all,  naturally,  the  best  of  their  sort! 

"Well,  but  you  must  do  something!"  Mr.  Sarsby  re- 
marked. "You  cannot  sit  here  all  day  and  look  at  the  sea, 
—  like  the  fishermen,"  he  continued,  with  a  little  laugh. 
"A  very  lazy  lot  —  our  fishermen,"  he  went  on.  "Never 
go  out  if  there  's  a  ripple  on  the  sea." 

Deane  nodded.  "The  tides,"  he  remarked,  "are  rather 
treacherous,  I  should  think." 

The  servant  brought  in  tea  and  a  great  dish  of  straw- 
berries, at  which  Mr.  Sarsby  gazed  in  amazement. 

"Strawberries!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  we  don't  begin 
to  think  about  them  for  another  six  weeks ! " 

"Is  that  so?"  answered  Deane,  carelessly.  "I  never 
know  anything  about  seasons,  and  my  man  is  doing  the 
catering.  Miss  Sinclair,  you  must  make  the  tea  for  us.  I 
am  afraid  our  methods  are  a  little  crude,  but  you  see  we 
are  trying  to  get  along  without  any  women-servants." 

Mr.  Sarsby  was  a  little  abashed.  He  had  seldom  sat 
down  to  a  table  covered  by  a  cloth  of  such  fine  linen,  and 
he  had  certainly  never  been  waited  upon,  of  late  years,  by 


96  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

a  man-servant.  His  little  eyes  roved  inquisitively  around. 
"You  come  from  London,  sir,  my  niece  tells  me,"  he 
remarked. 

"From  London,"  Deane  replied. 

*'A  wonderful  place!"  Mr.  Sarsby  said,  with  a  sigh. 
"Since  I  retired,  unfortunately,  I  have  had  to  drop  out  of 
life  altogether." 

"Your  health?"  Deane  suggested  politely. 

"My  health,  and  my  ridiculously  small  pension,"  Mr. 
Sarsby  answered.  "I  can't  make  out  what  the  country  is 
coming  to.  Years  ago,  pensions  were  altogether  on  a  dif- 
ferent scale.  To-day,  it  seems  to  me  that  every  govern- 
ment is  always  trying  to  shirk  its  obligations  to  those  who 
go  out  and  help  to  build  up  the  empire." 

This  was  Mr.  Sarsby's  favorite  little  speech,  which  he 
made  regularly  several  times  a  week  in  the  village,  and 
once  a  year  at  a  club  dinner.  Deane  received  it  in  sym- 
pathetic silence. 

"Tell  me  how  you  spend  your  time,  Miss  Sinclair?" 
he  asked.  "You  play  golf,  I  think  you  told  me." 

"  Oh !  I  do  all  the  obvious  things  one  has  to  do,  living 
in  such  a  place,"  she  said.  "I  swim  and  I  fish,  I  play  golf 
and  tennis  when  I  can  get  any,  and  I  sail  a  boat  when  I 
can  borrow  one.  Those  things  are  all  sport  to  you,  I  sup- 
pose. When  they  become  not  a  part  of  your  life,  but  the 
whole  of  it,  they  are  a  dreary  sort  of  pursuits." 


AN   INFORMAL  TEA-PARTY  97 

"My  niece  is  seldom  satisfied,"  Mr.  Sarsby  said  sharply- 

"Why  should  I  be?"  she  asked.  "You,  at  least,  have 
had  your  day.  You  have  seen  something  of  life,  in  how- 
ever small  a  circle.  I  have  n't !  I  dare  say,  after  twenty 
years  away,  I  might  be  content  with  these  things.  Life 
for  you  is  simply  a  satisfactory  thing  or  not  according  to 
whether  you  have  beaten  Colonel  Forsitt  or  whether  he 
has  beaten  you,  whether  you  are  heeling  your  mashie  shots 
or  laying  them  dead,  holing  your  putts  or  leaving  them 
short.  You  see,  I  have  n't  quite  come  to  the  stage  when  I 
find  these  things  sufficient." 

"At  any  rate,"  Mr.  Sarsby  remarked,  with  what  he  im- 
agined was  a  dignified  air,  "there  is  no  need  to  take  a 
stranger  into  your  confidence.  Mr.  Deane  is  scarcely 
interested." 

"On  the  contrary,"  Deane  answered,  with  a  little  bow. 
"  But  I  thought  you  told  me,  Miss  Sinclair,  that  you  were 
probably  leaving  us  before  long." 

"Oh,  I  hope  so!"  she  replied.  "My  uncle  was  not  a 
man  to  break  his  promise,  and  he  did  promise.  I  am  ex- 
pecting to  hear  now  every  day." 

After  tea,  they  wandered  out  on  to  the  little  stretch  of 
sandy  shingle  which  alone  separated  the  cottage  from  the 
sea.  The  girl  had  walked  on  a  little  ahead,  and  Deane 
laid  his  hand  for  a  moment  upon  her  uncle's  shoulder. 

"Mr.  Sarsby,"  he  said,  "did  I  understand  that  the  name 


98  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

of  your  niece's  uncle  was  Sinclair  —  the  same  as  her 
own?" 

Mr.  Sarsby  nodded.  "Yes,  sir!"  he  said,  —  "  Richard 
Sinclair.  He  was  her  father's  brother,  you  see,  —  a  queer, 
wandering  sort  of  fish.  However,  he  certainly  did  write 
the  girl,  a  few  weeks  ago,  saying  that  he  was  back  in  Eng- 
land, and  hoped  to  realize  a  large  sum  of  money  on  some 
of  his  investments,  and  promised  to  send  for  her  to  come 
up  to  town.  Since  then,  we  have  heard  nothing  from 
him." 

"Do  you  read  the  papers,  Mr.  Sarsby?"  Deane 
asked. 

"I  read  the  Times  for  an  hour  every  afternoon  between 
five  and  six,"  Mr.  Sarsby  admitted.  "  I  have  a  special  ar- 
rangement with  Mr.  Foulds  —  the  vicar  —  which  enables 
me  to  do  this,  —  a  special  arrangement!"  he  concluded, 
with  a  little  gurgle  of  satisfaction.  "  Our  vicar,  by  the  bye, 
Mr.  Deane,  is  a  highly  intelligent  man.  He  will  doubtless 
be  coming  across  to  see  you." 

"I  am  here  for  so  short  a  time,"  Deane  said.  "It  is 
very  kind  of  people,  but  really  it  is  scarcely  worth  their 
while  to  trouble  to  come  to  see  me.  I  am  going  on  to 
Scotland  in  a  few  days.  It  is  only  that  I  was  a  little  run 
down,  and  scarcely  felt  up  to  a  large  house-party,  that  I 
came  here  first." 

"You  are  one  of  those  fortunate  people,  I  see,"  Mr. 


AN   INFORMAL  TEA-PARTY  99 

Sarsby  remarked,  a  little  enviously,  "who  mix  in  the 
world." 

Deane  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "More  or  less,  I  sup- 
pose," he  admitted.  "But  I  was  asking  you  whether  you 
read  the  papers.  I  did  so  for  an  object.  I  wonder  whether 
you  have  noticed  the  details  of  a  very  sordid  murder  that 
was  committed  in  a  London  hotel  a  short  time  ago?" 

"I  never  read  of  such  things,  sir !"  Mr.  Sarsby  declared. 
"They  do  not  interest  me.  I  read  the  political  news  and 
the  foreign  intelligence.  Anything  that  pertains  to  India, 
also,  naturally  claims  my  attention.  I  have  always  con- 
tended," he  continued,  "  that  a  golf  column  in  the  Times, 
say  twice  a  week,  would  be  much  appreciated.  We  who 
study  the  game  from  the  scientific  point  of  view  would 
like  to  see  the  attitude  the  Times  would  take  on  certain 
matters.  For  instance,  I  myself  —  " 

"  Pardon  my  interrupting  you,  Mr.  Sarsby,"  Deane  said, 
with  his  eyes  upon  the  returning  figure  of  the  girl,  "  but  I 
was  speaking  about  this  murder.  Curiously  enough,  the 
unfortunate  man  was  named  Sinclair,  and  he  had  just  re- 
turned from  abroad." 

Mr.  Sarsby  slowly  opened  his  mouth.  Looking  up  at 
his  companion  blankly,  "You  don't  for  a  moment  im- 
agine," he  began,  "that  there  could  be  any  connection 
between  this  person  and  Ruby's  uncle?" 

"  I  have  n't  any  idea,"  Deane  answered,  "  but  when  she 


100  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

mentioned  his  name,  and  told  me  that  he  had  just  come 
back  from  Africa,  and  that  she  had  been  waiting  for  a 
letter  which  did  not  come,  it  certainly  occurred  to  me  to 
be  rather  in  the  nature  of  a  coincidence ! " 

"Have  you  a  paper?"  Mr.  Sarsby  asked  hurriedly. 

Deane  shook  his  head.  "No!"  he  said.  "But  there 
must  be  a  village  library,  or  some  place  where  the  London 
papers  are  preserved." 

"There  is,"  Mr.  Sarsby  declared.  "I  will  hurry  back. 
I  will  go  and  read  about  it  at  once.  Does  it  say  whether 
the  unfortunate  man,"  he  continued,  "was  possessed  of 
any  means?" 

"I  do  not  remember,"  Deane  said.  "The  object  of  the 
murder  was  supposed  to  be  robbery,  but  the  hotel  he  was 
staying  at  scarcely  seemed  to  be  one  likely  to  attract  a 
man  of  wealth." 

"I  shall  hurry  back  at  once,"  Mr.  Sarsby  declared.  "If 
there  is  anything  in  this,  I  must  come  and  ask  your  advice." 

"If  the  thing  seems  in  any  way  possible,"  Deane  re- 
marked, "you  will  have  to  run  up  to  town  and  make 
inquiries." 

Mr.  Sarsby  opened  his  mouth.  "My  dear  sir!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "Go  to  London ?  But  there,  there !"  he  added. 
"  I  forgot !  If  there  is  anything  in  it,  the  estate  would,  of 
course,  pay  my  railway  fare.  Such  a  busy  week,  too,  as 
I  have  next  week,"  he  added,  taking  out  his  memorandum 


AN   INFORMAL  TEA-PARTY  101 

book  and  glancing  at  it  for  a  moment.  "I  have  seven  golf 
matches,  —  three  foursomes  and  four  singles.  I  scarcely 
see  how  I  could  get  away.  Ruby,"  he  called,  "come  along, 
my  dear.  We  must  be  getting  back." 

The  girl  stifled  a  yawn.  She  was  beginning  to  be  a  bit 
curious  as  to  why  their  host  had  devoted  all  his  attention 
to  her  uncle.  "Very  well,"  she  answered  laconically. 
"I  am  quite  ready.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Deane!" 

"If  I  may,"  he  said,  "I  will  walk  a  little  way  with  you." 

They  crossed  the  strip  of  shingly  beach  together.  After- 
wards, by  necessity,  the  party  became  detached.  Mr. 
Sarsby  walked  on  ahead.  Deane  and  the  girl  followed  him, 
a  few  yards  behind. 

"You  seem  to  have  found  plenty  to  say  to  my  uncle," 
she  remarked  curiously. 

"  If  you  will  spoil  an  interesting  tea-party,"  he  murmured, 
"  by  bringing  in  an  elderly  male  relative,  —  " 

"It  wasn't  my  fault,"  she  interrupted.  "He  would 
come  —  insisted  upon  it  —  as  soon  as  he  knew  that  I  had 
spoken  to  you.  Your  man  has  been  making  purchases  and 
sending  telegrams  in  the  village,  which  has  made  every 
one  curious.  People  who  live  in  small  places  are  always 
such  snobs." 

He  laughed.  "Well,  I  had  to  talk  to  your  uncle,  any- 
how," he  said. 

She  nodded.    "You  know  now  what  I  have  to  put  up 


102  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

with,"  she  said.  "He  is  a  dull,  ignorant,  pompous  little 
bore.  You  have  probably  found  that  out  for  yourself  by 
now." 

"You  dismiss  your  relatives  a  little  summarily,"  he 
remarked. 

"I  try  to  speak  the  truth,"  she  answered.  "I  believe  in 
being  just  to  people.  If  I  knew  of  any  good  quality  that 
he  possessed,  I  would  tell  it  to  you,  —  but  I  don't!" 

She  believed  in  being  just!  He  looked  at  her  as  she 
walked  by  his  side,  stepping  along  with  the  delightful  free- 
dom of  healthy  youth,  her  limbs  clearly  defined  beneath 
her  thin  skirt,  —  for  they  were  facing  a  land  breeze  which 
played  havoc,  also,  with  her  hair.  She  walked  well,  her 
head  a  little  thrown  back.  Deane  recognized  the  graceful 
lines  of  her  neck  and  throat,  the  carriage  of  her  chin. 
There  was  something  particularly  rhythmic  about  her 
movements.  She  was  a  believer  in  justice !  Well,  she 
looked  like  that.  The  mouth,  in  repose,  was  a  little  hard, 
—  the  jaw  determined.  He  found  himself  wondering,  with 
a  nervous  sort  of  morbid  curiosity,  exactly  what  she  would 
say  and  do  if  she  had  known  with  whom  she  was  walking, 
and  if  Dick  Sinclair  had  indeed  been  her  uncle !  Suppos- 
ing she  knew  the  whole  truth,  —  knew  of  that  heated  in- 
terview, knew  of  Rowan's  enterprise,  knew  of  the  paper 
which  was  still  sewn  into  the  dead  man's  coat !  She  would 
scarcely  be  an  easy  person  to  deal  with,  he  thought. 


AN   INFORMAL  TEA-PARTY  103 

Her  uncle  had  turned  round.  They  had  reached  the 
end  of  the  dyke.  A  little  grass-grown  footpath  led  them 
now  to  the  side  of  the  harbor,  beyond  which  lay  the 
village. 

"Mr.  Deane,"  he  said,  —  " Mr.  Deane,  I  should  like 
to  show  you  the  village  schoolroom." 

Deane  nodded.    "I  should  be  very  glad,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Sarsby  turned  to  his  niece.  "Ruby,"  he  said,  "go 
home  and  tell  your  aunt  where  we  are.  I  shall  be  home  in 
half-an-hour,  —  perhaps  five-and-twenty  minutes.  If  there 
is  any  message  for  me  from  the  golf  club,  the  boy  can  wait 
till  I  return.  This  way,  Mr.  Deane,  —  this  way." 

The  girl  turned  away  with  a  little  grimace,  and  waved 
her  hand  to  Deane  as  she  disappeared.  The  two  men 
climbed  the  village  street  side  by  side. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN    UNEXPECTED    VISITOR 

MR.  SARSBY,  like  most  men  of  his  stamp,  when 
brought  in  touch  with  larger  things  than  his 
world  knew  of,  was  nervous  and  helpless.  He  seemed 
to  throw  the  whole  weight  of  further  action  upon  this 
stranger  at  whose  instigation  he  had  commenced  the 
search. 

The  reading-room  was  empty  except  for  these  two 
men.  Deane  was  sitting  in  the  little  bow  window,  look- 
ing down  with  apparent  interest  into  the  narrow,  tor- 
tuous street.  Sarsby,  with  a  pile  of  torn  and  crumpled 
newspapers  in  front  of  him,  was  still  standing,  leaning 
over  the  long  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  His  search 
was  finished.  He  had  no  doubt  whatever  in  his  mind. 
The  murdered  man  was  indeed  Ruby's  uncle ! 

"Mr.  Deane!"  he  exclaimed  hoarsely. 

Deane  turned  his  head.     "Well?" 

"There's  no  doubt  at  all  about  it,"  declared  Mr. 
Sarsby,  striking  the  little  pile  of  papers  with  the  back  of 
his  hand.  "It's  the  man  —  it's  Ruby's  uncle!  The 


AN  UNEXPECTED   VISITOR  105 

date  of  his  arrival  corresponds,  and  the  hotel  is  the  one 
from  which  he  wrote  to  Ruby." 

Deane  nodded.  "I  fancied  that  it  must  be  the  same," 
he  said. 

"It  is  the  same,"  Mr.  Sarsby  declared.  "What  are  we 
to  do  ?  Something  must  be  done  at  once ! " 

"Exactly,"  Deane  remarked.  "Your  niece,  of  course, 
must  claim  her  inheritance  —  that  is,  if  the  man  was 
really  worth  anything." 

"  Of  course !  —  Of  course ! "  Mr.  Sarsby  said.  "  Dear 
me,  what  an  unfortunate  business  this  all  is !  I  suppose 
I  must  go  to  London  with  her,  and  London  always  upsets 
me  horribly." 

"I  am  afraid  that  you  must  make  up  your  mind  to  that," 
Deane  remarked.  "As  I  said  before,  if  there  is  anything 
I  can  do  to  help  you,  I  shall  be  delighted." 

"But  you  won't  be  there,"  Mr.  Sarsby  said.  "You 
are  going  from  here  to  Scotland." 

Deane  hesitated.  "  I  might,"  he  said,  — "  in  fact  I 
think  that  I  certainly  should,  —  go  to  Scotland  by  way 
of  London." 

"But  we  must  leave  at  once!"  Mr.  Sarsby  declared. 
"At  least  I  suppose  so." 

Deane  rose  to  his  feet.  He  had  not  much  sympathy 
for  the  frightened  little  man,  whose  eyes  were  con- 
tinually seeking  his  as  though  for  help  and  advice. 


106  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  scarcely  see  how  you  can  keep 
away,  under  the  circumstances.  You  must  talk  it  over 
with  your  niece,  and  let  me  know  what  you  decide." 

They  left  the  place  together.  As  they  stepped  out  on 
to  the  pavement,  Mr.  Sarsby  coughed  apologetically.  "I 
suppose,"  said  he,  "you  would  consider  it  necessary  for 
me  to  tell  my  niece  about  this  ?  It  will  be  a  shock  to  her, 
of  course.  She  had  hoped  so  much  from  the  coming  of 
this  uncle,  and  I  am  afraid  that  she  is  not  particularly 
contented  here." 

"I  scarcely  see,"  Deane  answered,  "how  you  can 
keep  it  from  her." 

"There  is  no  mention  of  any  property,"  Mr.  Sarsby 
remarked,  —  "none  at  all.  In  fact,  the  papers  say  that 
his  effects  were  so  small  that  it  seemed  difficult  to  believe 
that  robbery  was  the  motive  of  the  crime.  Still,  I  suppose 
she  must  be  told." 

Deane  walked  down  the  narrow  street,  his  hands  be- 
hind his  back,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  arm  of  the  river 
below,  dotted  now  with  brown-sailed  fishing-boats.  Here, 
after  all,  was  a  simple  way  out  of  the  difficulty!  The 
murdered  man  had  no  other  relatives.  In  all  probability, 
no  one  would  ever  tell  the  girl.  No  one  would  ever  claim 
the  possessions  of  the  dead  man,  whatsoever  they  might  be. 
Then  common  sense  reasserted  itself  in  his  brain,  and  he 
stifled  the  instinct  which  he  had  so  nearly  yielded  to. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR  107 

"She  must  be  told,  Mr.  Sarsby,"  he  said.  "If  you 
would  rather  not  tell  her  yourself,  I  will  do  so." 

Mr.  Sarsby  shook  his  head.  "It  isn't  that,"  he  said. 
"I  don't  mind  telling  her.  But  it's  the  journey  to  Lon- 
don, and  the  excitement,  and  all  that.  I  hate  worry  of 
any  sort.  It's  bad  for  my  health,  anyhow." 

They  stood  upon  the  little  quay,  and  Deane  hesitated. 
"If  there  is  anything  further  which  I  can  do,"  he  said, 
"come  out  and  look  me  up.  In  any  case,  let  me  see  you 
before  you  start  for  London." 

Mr.  Sarsby  wrung  his  hand.  "It  is  very  good  of  you," 
he  declared.  "I  shall  certainly  come  out  before  we  start, 
—  most  certainly !  I  can't  imagine  what  Ruby  will  say. 
Poor  girl !  Poor  girl ! " 

Deane  retraced  his  steps  along  the  high  dyke  bank  to 
the  marshes  which  surrounded  his  tower.  Once  or  twice 
he  looked  behind,  looked  toward  the  low  white  front  of 
the  cottage  which  the  girl  had  pointed  out  as  her  abode. 
Once  he  fancied  that  he  saw  something  moving  in  the 
garden,  and  he  stood  on  the  top  of  the  dyke,  gazing  with 
a  curious  interest  at  the  slowly  moving  speck  passing  in 
and  out  amongst  the  trees.  Then  it  vanished.  He  turned 
and  made  his  way  homeward.  .  .  . 

Towards  sunset,  the  heat  of  the  day  seemed  suddenly 
to  increase.  A  curiously  hot  wind  sprang  up  from  the 
land,  black  clouds  gathered  in  the  sky,  and  unusual 


108  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

darkness  hung  over  the  land.  The  air  seemed  charged 
with  electricity.  Every  moment  it  seemed  as  though  the 
clouds  must  break  and  the  storm  come.  The  tide  came 
rolling  in,  no  longer  with  a  faint,  insistent  ripple,  but 
with  great  powerful  waves,  throwing  their  spray  far  and 
wide.  Deane  left  his  dinner  more  than  once  to  stand 
outside  on  the  little  knoll  and  watch.  Every  moment 
he  expected  to  see  the  banks  of  black  clouds  riven  with 
lightning,  to  hear  the  far-off  muttering  across  the  sea 
grow  nearer  and  nearer.  The  whole  world  seemed  to 
be  in  a  state  of  suspended  animation.  The  seagulls  had 
ceased  their  screaming,  and  had  taken  shelter  in  some 
hidden  haunt.  A  little  fleet  of  fishing-boats  had  furled 
their  sails.  Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen  upon  the  marshes. 

Deane  finished  his  dinner  and  sat  by  the  wide-open 
window,  leaning  upon  his  folded  arms,  looking  out  at  the 
foam-flecked  sea,  —  foam  which  seemed  to  glitter  with  a 
clear,  white  phosphorescence  in  the  failing  light.  There 
were  books  by  his  side,  but  he  felt  no  inclination  to  read ; 
—  cigarettes  and  cigars  at  his  elbow,  but  he  lacked  the 
enterprise  to  smoke.  There  was  something  almost  theat- 
rical, something  breathless,  in  this  pause  before  the  storm ! 
He  himself  was  in  an  emotional  frame  of  mind.  Another 
page  of  this  tragic  chapter  had  opened  before  him.  The 
coming  of  this  girl  was  in  itself  a  catastrophe.  She  would 
take  possession  of  the  papers  belonging  to  the  murdered 


AN  UNEXPECTED   VISITOR  109 

man,  —  would  show  them,  probably,  to  a  lawyer.  After 
that,  only  the  worst  could  happen ! 

Then,  as  he  sat  there,  the  profound  silence  was  sud- 
denly broken.  He  heard  the  crunch  of  the  gravel  be- 
neath flying  footsteps,  the  rustle  of  a  skirt,  a  little 
half-subdued  cry!  He  looked  up  in  amazement.  It 
was  Winifred  Rowan  who  was  coming  towards  him,  her 
hair  disordered,  her  eyes  lit  with  fear,  —  a  strange,  half- 
terrified  figure,  flying  from  the  storm ! 

"  Miss  Rowan ! "  he  exclaimed  breathlessly. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  clouds  were  parted  at  last  with 
a  dazzling  blaze  of  forked  lightning.  The  girl  gave  a 
little  cry  and  held  out  her  hands.  He  leaned  over,  and, 
as  the  thunder  shook  the  building,  took  her  into  his  arms, 
lifting  her  over  the  narrow  window-sill  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    EFFECT    OF    A    STORM 

DEANE  was  never  quite  sure  how  it  had  happened. 
The  sudden  crash  of  the  storm,  the  vivid  play  of 
the  lightning  in  the  darkened  room,  the  curious  exulta- 
tion which  any  outburst  of  nature  seems  to  kindle  in  the 
forgotten  places,  had  somehow  generated  a  curious  ex- 
citement—  something  electrical,  incomprehensible,  yet 
felt  by  both  of  them.  His  hands  were  still  about  her  for 
a  moment  after  she  was  in  the  room.  It  was  perhaps  a 
harmless  instinct  enough  which  caused  her  to  draw  a 
little  nearer  still  to  him  with  fear,  as  the  thunder  crashed 
overhead  and  the  ground  beneath  their  feet  rocked.  Then 
there  happened  what  he  was  never  able  to  explain.  She 
was  in  his  arms,  her  panting  breath  fell  hot  upon  his 
cheek,  his  lips  were  pressed  to  hers,  before  he  even  real- 
ized what  was  happening.  Her  head  fell  a  little  back, 
her  lips  seemed  to  meet  his  freely,  unresistingly.  It  was 
one  of  those  moments  of  madness  which  seem  to  be  born 
and  die  away,  without  reason,  almost  without  volition. 
Deane  himself  was  no  Lothario.  In  his  office  he  had 


THE  EFFECT  OF  A  STORM  111 

talked  kindly  with  this  girl,  and  it  had  never  occurred 
to  him  for  a  single  second  even  to  hold  her  hand  in  his. 
Her  comings  and  goings,  except  for  their  association,  had 
left  him  unmoved.  Afterwards,  when  he  tried  to  think 
of  it,  his  senses  were  simply  benumbed.  Yet  the  fact  re- 
mained that  she  had  come  into  his  arms  as  though  she 
had  heard  the  call  of  his  heart  for  her,  that  their  lips 
had  met  with  all  the  effortless  certainty  of  fate. 

The  thunder  ceased.  She  disengaged  herself  from 
his  arms  with  a  little  cry.  Her  bosom  was  still  heaving, 
her  cheeks  were  white  almost  to  ghastliness,  with  one 
little  patch  of  brilliant  color  where  his  lips  had  rested 
for  a  moment.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words  seemed 
stifled  in  her  throat.  He  led  her  to  a  chair,  arranged 
cushions  for  her  back,  and  stood  over  her. 

"Is  there  news?"  he  asked. 

"None!"  she  faltered. 

He  shook  his  head.  He  was  completely  bewildered. 
"How  did  you  find  me  out?"  he  asked.  "What  brings 
you  here  at  this  hour?" 

"It  is  because  there  is  no  news,"  she  cried,  speaking 
with  difficulty.  "I  cannot  rest  or  sleep.  Every  moment 
that  passes  tears  at  my  heartstrings.  Life  has  become 
nothing  but  a  living  nightmare.  Don't  be  angry  with 
me  that  I  came.  I  was  obliged  to  do  something  or  I 
should  have  gone  mad." 


112  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"I  am  not  angry,"  he  said.  "I  am  only  amazed.  I 
cannot  understand  — 

"Oh,  I  found  out  where  you  were!"  she  said.  "I  did 
everything  that  was  mean.  I  bribed  someone  to  tell  me. 
This  morning  I  saw  Basil.  I  think  I  came  to  him  at  a 
weak  moment.  The  horror  was  in  his  eyes.  I  shrieked 
when  I  saw  him.  Even  now  when  I  think  I  must  shriek. 
Mr.  Deane,  I  have  come  to  pray,  to  beg  you  to  go  back. 
You  are  very  rich.  There  must  be  ways  of  saving  him. 
You  have  influence  with  people.  Go  back  and  use  it. 
What  can  you  do  here  in  the  wilderness  ?  It  seems  almost 
as  though  you  had  left  him  to  die." 

He  stooped  down  and  took  her  hands  once  more  in 
his.  "My  dear  little  friend,"  he  said,  "remember  what 
I  told  you  in  my  office.  Believe  me,  I  should  not  have 
left  London  if  the  slightest  doubt  had  remained  as  to 
your  brother's  safety.  Never  mind  how  I  managed  it. 
You  had  better  not  ask;  you  had  better  not  know.  But 
your  brother  will  be  reprieved.  It  is  a  certain  thing." 

She  drew  a  long  breath.  Once  more  her  face  was  at 
any  rate  human.  The  lightning  filled  the  room  with  a 
sudden  glare.  She  caught  at  him  with  a  scream.  "  Oh ! 
I  am  afraid,  I  am  afraid!"  she  moaned. 

He  passed  his  arm  around  her  reassuringly.  "You 
are  overwrought,"  he  said.  "You  are  almost  at  the  end 
of  your  strength." 


THE  EFFECT  OF  A  STORM  113 

He  poured  out  some  brandy  and  water,  and  made  her 
drink  it.  Her  hand  shook  so  that  he  had  to  guide  the 
glass  to  her  lips. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  "you  must  keep  calm  or  you  will 
be  ill,  and  you  will  not  be  able  to  help  your  brother.  Tell 
me,  have  you  eaten  anything  to-day?" 

"I  don't  remember,"  she  gasped. 

Deane  rang  the  bell.  "Something  to  eat,"  he  ordered, 
"  for  one,  as  quickly  as  you  can.  And  some  wine  —  any- 
thing will  do." 

It  was  to  the  man's  credit  that  he  received  his  orders  with- 
out comment  or  surprise.  Once  more  they  two  were  alone. 

"If  you  have  any  faith  in  me,"  Deane  said,  "or  any 
belief,  remember  what  I  have  told  you.  Your  brother  is 
safe.  To-morrow  or  the  next  day  the  reprieve  will  be 
signed." 

"Say  it  again !"  she  gasped,  clinging  to  his  hand. 

"To-morrow  or  the  next  day,"  he  repeated  firmly, 
"the  reprieve  will  be  signed.  There  can  be  no  mistake. 
There  will  be  none." 

"Ah!"  she  murmured,  half  closing  her  eyes.  "It 
was  to  hear  you  talk  like  this  that  I  came.  I  could  not 
have  borne  it  alone  for  another  second.  Something  in 
my  head  seemed  to  be  giving  way." 

"The  storm,  too,  is  terrifying,"  he  said.  "You  were 
fortunate  not  to  be  ten  minutes  later.  Look!" 


114  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

He  led  her  to  the  window.  Across  the  marsh  was 
a  darkness  that  was  less  of  the  atmosphere  than  of  the 
falling  torrents  of  rain,  —  rain  that  fell  in  sheets,  flung  up 
again  from  the  hard  paths  of  the  marshes  in  a  white, 
fringe-like  foam.  Seaward,  the  waves  had  become 
breakers.  The  one  white  line  had  become  a  dozen. 

"You  would  have  been  drowned,"  he  said,  leading  her 
back  to  her  chair. 

"It  is  good  of  you,"  she  said,  "not  to  be  angry.  I 
ought  not  to  have  come.  I  know  that.  Only  I  was  afraid. 
In  London  I  should  have  gone  mad." 

The  servant  entered  with  a  tray.  Deane  stood  over 
her  while  she  ate,  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  talk- 
ing in  a  disconnected  manner  of  many  things.  Outside, 
the  storm  was  passing  away.  Through  the  wide-open 
windows  fresh  salt  air  came  stealing  into  the  room. 
Deane  stood  looking  out  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
turned  towards  his  visitor  with  an  air  of  perplexity. 
She  met  his  gaze,  and  her  eyes  suddenly  filled  with 
tears. 

"Oh!  I  know  I  have  been  foolish,"  she  said.  "I  am 
here  and  you  don't  know  what  to  do  with  me.  Is  n't 
that  what  you  were  thinking  ?  I  have  been  very  foolish," 
she  added,  with  a  sudden  flood  of  color  streaming  into 
her  cheeks.  "But  remember,  when  I  came  I  was  mad. 
You  will  remember  that?" 


THE   EFFECT   OF  A  STORM  115 

"Yes!"  he  answered  reassuringly.  "I  will  remember 
that." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Deane  felt  that  it 
would  have  been  torture  to  her  if  he  had  alluded  to  that 
moment  of  madness,  and  yet  it  was  hard  altogether  to 
avoid  it. 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  you  will  have  to  put  up 
with  bachelor  quarters  to-night.  You  can  have  my  room 
here.  I  have  another  which  will  do,  but  you  would  find 
it  a  little  rough." 

She  looked  at  him  timidly.  "  Could  n't  I  —  get  back 
to  the  village?" 

He  led  her  outside  and  pointed.  The  storm,  coming 
with  the  full  tide,  had  wrought  a  strange  change  in  the 
face  of  the  land.  Up  to  the  very  top  of  the  dykes  was  a 
turbulent  waste  of  waters.  The  tower  had  been  left  as 
though  upon  an  island.  Nowhere  in  sight  was  any  land 
to  be  seen. 

"You  see,"  Deane  said  to  the  girl,  "it  would  not  be 
safe  to  try  and  get  to  the  village.  The  water  is  up  to 
within  a  few  inches  of  the  dyke,  and  in  the  half  darkness 
one  might  easily  make  a  false  step.  From  here  one  can- 
not quite  see,  but  I  should  imagine  that  the  flood  is  over 
the  village  street." 

She  turned  back  toward  the  little  gray  stone  build- 
ing. "  If  you  will  let  me  sleep  in  your  sitting-room,  then," 


116  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

she   said   timidly.     "I  will    not  turn  you  out   of   your 
room." 

He  laughed.  "My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "if 
anyone  in  the  world  ever  needed  sleep  to-night,  it  is  you. 
I  am  going  to  send  you  up  to  lie  down  at  once.  You 
must  promise  me,  promise  faithfully,  that  you  will  re- 
member what  I  have  said,  that  you  will  say  this  to  your- 
self: 'The  reprieve  will  come!'  It  is  the  truth,  mind. 
Say  that  to  yourself  and  sleep." 

Then  he  touched  the  bell  and  spoke  to  his  ser- 
vant. "Grant,  please  make  my  room  as  habitable 
as  possible  for  this  young  lady.  We  are  on  an  island, 
and  no  one  will  be  able  to  leave  to-night.  Put  out  any- 
thing of  mine  you  think  may  be  useful  to  her." 

She  turned  towards  him  impulsively.  "You  are  very 
good  to  me,"  she  said. 

"My  dear  Miss  Rowan,  I  only  wish  that  it  were  in 
my  power  — 

Then  he  stopped  short.  After  all,  it  was  not  wise  to 
tell  her  too  much.  He  raised  her  fingers  to  his  lips,  and 
avoided,  with  a  sudden  twinge  of  self-reproach,  the  soft 
invitation  of  her  timidly  raised  eyes. 

"You  must  sleep  well,"  he  said,  as  he  pointed  the  way 
up  the  stairs.  "Remember,  you  can  take  what  I  have 
told  you  as  a  promise." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A    REPRIEVE 

MORNING  dawned  upon  a  land  still  as  though 
from  exhaustion.  The  long  waves,  sole  remnant 
of  the  storm,  came  gliding  in  with  a  slow,  lazy  motion, 
and  broke  noiselessly  upon  the  firm  sands.  The  sky  was 
blue.  Of  wind  there  was  none  at  all.  Inland,  the  flood- 
tide  was  still  high.  Only  the  tops  of  the  dykes  were 
visible.  Everywhere  the  sea  had  found  its  way  into  un- 
expected places.  Little  patches  of  the  marsh  from 
which  it  had  just  receded  shone  with  a  new  glory  —  a 
green  glitter  like  the  sparkle  of  emeralds.  Deane,  who 
was  out  early,  for  his  bed  had  been  no  more  than  a  sofa, 
gave  a  little  start  of  surprise  as  he  opened  the  door  and 
found  Winifred  Rowan  standing  on  a  little  knoll  by  the 
side  of  the  flagstaff,  looking  seaward. 

She  turned  towards  him  at  once  with  the  sound  of  the 
opening  door.  He  realized  then,  more  completely  than  in 
the  dusk  of  the  evening,  how  great  the  strain  of  these 
last  few  days  had  been,  —  the  strain  which  had  driven  her 
into  this  strange  journey.  The  black  rings  under  her 


118  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

eyes  seemed  as  though  traced  with  a  pencil,  her  cheeks 
were  thinner,  there  was  something  pathetic  about  the 
quick,  startled  look  which  flashed  into  her  eyes  at  the 
sound  of  Deane's  approaching  footsteps. 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said  gravely,  "that  you  have  not 
slept." 

"As  much  as  usual,"  she  answered.  "Tell  me,  what 
time  do  your  letters  come?" 

He  looked  inland.  "Generally  about  eight.  They 
may  be  a  little  later  to-day." 

She  nodded.  "I  must  go  back,"  she  said  vacantly. 
"When  is  there  a  train?" 

It  was  impossible  to  ask  her  to  stop,  and  yet  he  felt 
all  the  pathos  of  sending  her  back  to  face  alone  the 
shadow  of  her  terrible  anxiety. 

"There  is  no  hurry,"  he  said.  "W7e  will  look  out  the 
trains  after  breakfast." 

"Are  you  —  going  to  stay  here ?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"If  I  thought,"  he  answered,  "that  there  was  the 
slightest  thing  I  could  do  in  London  which  I  have 
not  already  done,  I  would  go  back  by  the  first  train  this 
morning,  but,  indeed,  you  must  remember  what  I  told  you 
last  night.  The  matter  is  practically  settled.  In  a  few 
days  he  will  know." 

"It  is  those  few  days,"  she  said  softly,  "which  are  so 
terrible." 


A  REPRIEVE  119 

It  was  hard  to  try  and  make  use  of  any  conventional 
phrase  of  reassurance.  Deane,  remembering  how  intense, 
how  real  and  startling  a  thing  this  tragedy  really  was, 
found  it  hard,  impossible,  indeed. 

"Tell  me,"  he  asked,  "do  you  live  absolutely  alone?" 

"Yes!"  she  told  him.  "There  was  a  cousin  who  was 
with  me  for  some  time,  but  she  got  a  situation  the  other 
side  of  London,  and  had  to  move.  I  was  in  a  boarding- 
house,"  she  continued,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
"  until  —  this  happened.  Then  all  the  people  —  well, 
they  meant  to  be  kind,"  she  broke  off,  "but  the  woman 
who  kept  it  thought  I  had  better  leave,  and  I  suppose 
she  was  right." 

"We  will  go  in  to  breakfast,"  he  said,  a  little  abruptly. 

Every  moment  he  seemed  to  realize  more  completely 
the  pathos  of  her  position.  They  turned  towards  the  house. 
Suddenly  her  fingers  fell  upon  his  arm.  "Who  is  that?" 
she  asked,  pointing  landwards. 

Deane  followed  her  outstretched  finger.  Riding  along 
the  top  of  one  of  the  dykes,  as  though  unconscious  of 
the  sea  flowing  on  either  side,  came  a  boy  on  a  bicycle. 
The  bicycle  was  painted  red,  and  the  boy  had  on  a  cap 
whose  high  peak  gave  it  a  semi-official  look. 

"He  is  coming  here,"  said  Deane.  "It  may  be  my 
letters.  Or  I  think  —  " 

He  stopped  short.     He  knew  very  well    that   it  was  a 


120  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

telegram  the  boy  was  bringing,  but  he  almost  feared  to 
say  anything  which  would  bring  hope  into  her  face. 

"It  isn't  —  it  couldn't  be  a  telegram?"  she  asked, 
a  little  wistfully. 

"It  might  be,"  he  admitted.  "I  get  a  good  many,  of 
course." 

He  told  the  lie  unblushingly.  All  the  time  he  watched, 
with  an  anxiety  which  seemed  incredible,  for  the  coming 
of  the  messenger. 

"You  must  remember,"  he  said,  "that  even  if  this 
should  be  a  telegram,  I  really  do  not  expect  any  news 

yet." 

She  said  nothing.  She  stood  with  parted  lips  by  his 
side,  and  they  watched  the  boy  drive  his  bicycle  along 
the  sea-stained  bank.  Once  he  skidded,  and  she  gave 
a  little  scream.  Deane  laughed  at  her,  surprised  to  dis- 
cover something  unnatural  in  the  sound. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "we  will  meet  the  boy  here.  I  am 
afraid  you  will  find  a  few  stock  exchange  quotations 
inside  the  envelope,  even  if  he  should  be  — 

"It  is  a  telegraph  boy,"  she  interrupted.  "I  can  see 
the  wallet." 

She  clung  to  his  arm.  Deane  found  himself  patting 
her  fragile  hand  with  his  strong  fingers.  He  drew  her 
arm  through  his,  and  led  her  a  few  steps  further  forward. 
The  boy  jumped  off  his  bicycle  and  opened  his  wallet, 


A  REPRIEVE  121 

as  he  approached,  with  a  familiar  movement.  Deane 
took  the  telegram  into  his  fingers  and  tore  it  open.  His 
arm  suddenly  went  round  her  waist. 

"Miss  Rowan,"  he  said,  "be  brave  and  I  will  tell  you 
some  good  news.  See,  you  can  read  it  for  yourself.  The 
reprieve  is  signed." 

She  suddenly  fell  a  dead  weight  upon  his  arm,  and 
almost  as  quickly  she  recovered  herself.  Her  closed 
eyes  were  opened,  she  clung  to  him  passionately.  "It 
is  true?"  she  cried  out. 

He  held  the  telegram  in  front  of  her  face.  "Read,"  he 
said.  "' Reprieve  signed  last  night.  Will  be  communicated 
to  Rowan  this  morning.  Hardaway.'  —  That  is  the 
name  of  my  solicitor,  so  there  is  no  possible  doubt  about 
it.  The  matter  is  ended." 

He  turned  to  the  boy,  who  stood  looking  on  with 
wooden  face.  Then  he  drew  a  coin  from  his  pocket. 
"My  young  friend,"  he  said,  "you  are  in  luck.  Take 
that  and  go  home  to  your  breakfast." 

The  boy  looked  at  the  sovereign  and  up  at  Deane. 
So  far  as  his  features  were  capable  of  expression  at  all, 
they  spoke  of  stupefaction.  Then,  as  though  afraid 
that  Deane  might  change  his  mind,  he  mounted  his 
bicycle  and  rode  rapidly  away. 

"It  is  a  relief  to  you,  of  course,"  Deane  said,  trying  to 
speak  in  as  matter-of-fact  a  tone  as  possible;  "but  this 


122  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

thing  was  a  certainty  all  the  time.  I  have  always  tried 
to  make  you  believe  that.  Come  in  now,  and  let  us  have 
some  breakfast.  You  ought  to  have  an  appetite." 

She  followed  him  without  a  word.  She  seemed,  indeed, 
like  a  person  dreaming,  not  wholly  able  to  realize  the 
things  happening  around  her,  even  the  moments  that 
passed.  Deane  waited  upon  her  at  breakfast,  and  talked 
in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  accepting  her  monosyllabic  an- 
swers as  natural  things,  —  carrying  on  a  conversation, 
too,  with  the  man  who  waited  at  the  sideboard.  By 
degrees,  a  more  natural  expression  came  into  her  face. 
When  at  last  the  meal  was  over  and  the  servant  had  left 
the  room,  she  burst  suddenly  into  tears.  Deane  took  her 
outside  and  placed  her  in  a  chair,  sitting  by  her  side  on 
the  sands. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "that  is  all  over." 

"When  can  I  go  back?"  she  asked  suddenly.  "They 
will  let  me  see  Basil.  I  must  go  and  tell  him." 

"He  knows,  of  course,"  Deane  replied,  "but  naturally 
he  will  want  to  see  you.  You  can  leave  here  in  about 
an  hour.  I  am  not  sure  —  perhaps  I  may  come  with 

you." 

She  sat  there  quietly,  absolutely  content  to  lie  still  and 
gaze  out  at  the  sea.  Presently  Grant  came  out  with  a 
note,  which  Deane  silently  opened.  It  was  dated  from 
The  Cottage,  Rakney. 


A  REPRIEVE  123 

DEAR  MR.  DEANE, 

My  niece  knows,  and  she  insists  upon  going  to  London 
at  once.  We  are  all  very  much  disturbed.  If  it  is  not 
troubling  you  too  much  when  you  are  passing  this  way,  we 
should  be  so  grateful  if  you  would  call  in  for  a  minute. 

Deane  looked  thoughtfully  seaward,  and  his  face  hard- 
ened as  he  crumpled  the  note  up  in  his  hand.  Then  he 
rose  to  his  feet.  "  I  am  going  in  to  see  about  the  trains 
for  you,"  he  said. 

He  hired  a  cart  from  the  village,  and  they  stood  together 
on  the  platform  of  the  nearest  railway  station,  an  hour 
or  so  later.  She  laid  her  arm  upon  his  sleeve. 

"Will  you  stop  for  a  moment,  please?"  she  said.  "I 
am  afraid  I  must  have  seemed  ungracious.  After  all,  I 
ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  you." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No !  "  he  answered.  "  It  is 
always  I  who  must  be  your  debtor.  I  ought  to  have  been 
firmer  with  your  brother  when  I  sent  him  to  this  man 
Sinclair  to  make  terms.  It  was  a  desperate  enterprise, 
after  all,  and  I  ought  to  have  realized  the  danger  of  your 
brother  being  tempted  to  use  violence.  To  me  he  was 
nothing  more  than  a  unit  of  humanity,  and  I  took  him 
at  his  word.  If  he  had  brought  me  the  paper  I  wanted, 
I  was  quite  prepared  to  ask  him  no  questions  whatever, 


124  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

and  he  would  have  been  a  rich  man.  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  in  a  sense  I  am  responsible  for  his  present  position 
and  yours." 

She  looked  away  from  him.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  horizon.  She  appeared  to  be  steadily  thinking  the 
matter  out.  The  wind  blew  little  wisps  of  fair  hair  over 
her  face.  Her  eyes  were  steadfast,  her  forehead  a  little 
wrinkled.  She  seemed  to  be  endeavoring  to  arrive  at  a 
conscientious  decision. 

"No!"  she  said,  after  some  time,  "I  cannot  see  that 
you  are  to  blame.  I  am  sure  that  it  never  entered  into 
your  head  that  my  brother  might  be  tempted  to  use 
violence." 

Deane  looked  away  with  a  little  frown.  In  his  heart 
he  knew  very  well  that  he  was  not  so  sure!  "Well,"  he 
said,  "we  will  let  that  go.  At  any  rate,  my  responsibility 
to  you  remains.  Tell  me  what  I  can  do?  How  can  I 
help  you?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  am  going  back  to  my  work," 
she  said.  "I  need  no  help." 

"Your  work?"  he  repeated. 

She  nodded,  with  a  little  sigh.  "I  am  a  typist,"  she 
said.  "  You  know  what  that  means,  —  genteel  starva- 
tion, long  hours,  gray  days.  Never  mind,  I  am  almost 
used  to  it." 

"You  need  be  a  typist  no  longer  unless  you  choose," 


A   REPRIEVE  125 

he  said.  "Part  of  what  I  promised  to  your  brother  be- 
longs to  you." 

She  shook  her  head.  "Don't  speak  of  it!"  she 
exclaimed.  "I  should  feel  that  it  was  blood  money." 

"At  least  let  me  hear  from  you  sometimes,"  he  said. 
"Don't  let  me  lose  sight  of  you  altogether  while  your 
brother  is  unable  to  help  you." 

She  hesitated.  Then,  lifting  her  eyes  to  his,  "I  don't 
believe,"  she  said  softly,  "that  you  would  tell  me  any- 
thing that  was  not  true." 

"I  don't  believe  that  I  should,"  he  answered. 

"Then  tell  me  this,"  she  said,  "honestly.  When  you 
made  my  brother  that  offer,  when  you  sent  him  to  deal 
with  this  man  Sinclair,  can  you  tell  me  that  you  had  not 
an  idea  in  your  mind  that  he  might  be  led  on  to  do  some- 
thing rash?" 

Deane  hesitated.  He  was  not  a  man  of  over-strict 
scruples,  but  he  hated  lies.  Somehow  or  other,  it  seemed 
to  him  impossible  to  look  at  this  girl  and  tell  her  any- 
thing that  was  not  the  truth. 

"I  am  not  altogether  sure,"  he  answered.  "At  the 
back  of  my  head  there  was  just  the  idea  that  your  brother 
was  desperate,  that  he  would  gain  what  he  wanted,  some- 
how or  other." 

She  turned  away,  and  walked  a  little  way  down  the 
platform.  The  train  was  already  in  the  station.  She  en- 


126  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

tered  a  carriage  and  sat  in  the  furthest  corner.  "Thank 
you,"  she  said.  "I  am  glad  that  you  have  told  me  the 
truth.  Would  you  mind  going  away  now,  please?" 

"I  am  sorry,"  Deane  said  simply.  "Remember  that  I 
only  did  what  ninety-nine  men  out  of  a  hundred  would 
have  done  in  my  place.  I  wanted  that  paper,  and  your 
brother  begged  for  just  such  an  enterprise." 

She  held  out  her  hands.  "If  you  please!"  she  said. 
"Good-bye!" 

Deane  turned  away.  The  girl  was  a  little  fool,  of 
course.  Yet  as  he  turned  and  watched  the  smoke  of 
the  train  disappear,  and  thought  of  her  in  her  empty 
third-class  carriage,  alone,  he  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of 
acute  depression  —  none  the  less  acute  because  it  was 
vague.  He  turned  back  to  the  village,  walking  with 
heavy  steps.  It  was  as  though  a  new  trouble  had  come 
into  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A    NEW    DANGER 

DEANE  was  shown  into  what  was  apparently  the 
morning-room  of  the  Sarsby  domicile  by  an  open- 
mouthed  and  very  country-looking  domestic,  who  re- 
garded him  all  the  time  with  unaffected  curiosity.  Mr. 
Sarsby  was  sitting  in  an  easy-chair,  reading  the  Times. 
Directly  he  recognized  his  visitor  he  showed  signs  of 
nervousness. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Deane!"  he  said,  rising.  "How  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Deane?" 

Deane  shook  hands.  His  host  did  not  ask  him  to  sit 
down,  nor  did  he  himself  resume  his  seat. 

"I  looked  in,"  Deane  explained,  "to  know  what  your 
niece  had  decided  to  do." 

"  She  has  decided  to  go  to  London  at  once,"  Mr.  Sarsby 
answered,  —  "  at  once.  It  is  very  inconvenient  for  all  of 
us.  I  am  almost  sorry  that  you  ever  happened  to  point 
out  the  paragraph,  especially  as  there  seems  to  be  no 
property  of  any  sort  to  be  found." 

The  door  was  suddenly  opened  and  Ruby  Sinclair 
entered.  There  was  a  frown  which  was  almost  a  scowl 


128  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

upon  her  dark,  handsome  face.  Little  Mr.  Sarsby  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  become  a  person  of  no  importance. 

"Mr.  Deane  will  excuse  me,"  he  said  hurriedly,  yet 
with  a  marked  attempt  at  stiffness.  "I  have  to  return 
the  Times" 

He  left  the  room.  Deane  looked  after  him  with  some 
surprise. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  your  uncle?"  he  asked  the 
girl. 

"He  has  just  heard,"  she  answered,  "that  a  young 
lady  from  somewhere  or  other  spent  the  night  out  at  the 
tower  last  night." 

Deane  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "And  what 
business  is  it  of  his?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  brusquely.  "As  a  rule,  gentlemen 
when  they're  living  alone  don't  have  young  lady  visitors, 
—  not  to  stay  the  night,  at  any  rate." 

Deane  laughed.  "The  young  lady  in  question,"  he 
said,  "came  to  see  me  on  a  very  important  matter.  If 
you  heard  anything  of  the  storm  last  night,  you  would 
understand  that  it  was  scarcely  possible  for  any  one  to 
have  found  her  way  from  the  tower  to  the  mainland  af- 
ter the  flood-tide  was  in." 

The  girl  nodded  shortly.  "It's  not  my  business,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  glad  you  came.  I  wanted  to  ask  you  some- 
thing. Who  is  this  man  Rowan  who  killed  my  uncle?" 


A  NEW  DANGER  129 

Deane  shook  his  head  slowly.  "No  one  knows  very 
much  about  him,"  he  said.  "They  were  out  in  South 
Africa  together.  It  was  there,  perhaps,  that  their  quarrel, 
if  they  had  one,  started." 

"It  says  in  the  Times  this  morning  that  he  has  been 
reprieved.  Why?"  she  asked  fiercely.  "Why  don't  they 
hang  him?" 

"Because  they  came  to  the  conclusion,"  he  answered, 
"  that  there  had  been  a  fight,  and  that  it  was  not  a  deliber- 
ate murder." 

"  They  ought  to  have  hanged  him,"  she  declared.  "  It 
was  brutal  —  hideous ! " 

"You  are  going  to  London,  are  you  not?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

Her  eyes  flashed.  "Yes!"  she  answered.  "I  am 
going.  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  too  late.  All  the  papers 
declare  that  my  uncle's  possessions  were  of  little 
value.  He  has  been  robbed.  I  am  sure  he  has  been 
robbed.  His  letter  told  me  that  he  would  have  plenty 
of  money.  He  would  not  write  and  tell  me  that  if  he 
had  nothing." 

"You  will  be  able  to  find  out,"  Deane  answered,  a 
little  coldly. 

"I  shall  find  out,"  the  girl  declared.  "I  am  going  to 
a  good  lawyer.  He  wrote  as  though  he  had  something 
in  his  possession  which  was  worth  money.  It  was  for 


130  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

that,  I  am  sure,  that  this  man  Rowan  tried  to  kill  him. 
I  shall  find  out  all  about  it  when  I  get  there." 

"The  man  Rowan  was  arrested  on  the  premises," 
Deane  reminded  her.  "There  was  no  time  for  him  to 
have  taken  anything  away,  and  the  room  was  locked  up 
by  the  police." 

"I  don't  care,"  she  answered.  "Oh!  Can't  you  under- 
stand what  this  means  to  me?"  she  cried,  jumping  up 
from  the  chair  in  which  she  had  seated  herself  a  moment 
or  so  before.  "  I  am  starved  for  life  here,  starved  for  the 
want  of  it,"  she  cried.  "I  was  never  meant  to  live  in  a 
place  like  this  —  a  life  like  this !  It  is  n't  fair.  Other 
girls  have  clothes  and  jewels,  and  men  to  admire  them, 
and  go  to  theatres,  and  see  the  world.  Why  should  n't 
I  ?  I  will !  I  am  going  to  London  to  find  out  what  that 
man  killed  my  uncle  for,  and  I  mean  never  to  come 
back  here  again." 

The  girl  was  evidently  in  earnest.  Her  bosom  was 
heaving,  her  dark  eyes  were  full  of  fire.  Deane  noticed 
the  firm  lines  of  her  mouth,  the  crisp  determination  of 
her  speech,  and  he  realized  a  new  danger.  This  girl  was 
not  one  to  be  bribed  or  put  off.  Every  word  she  had  said 
she  had  meant.  There  was  a  distinct  change  in  her  whole 
appearance  since  the  last  time  he  had  seen  her.  She  was 
at  once  handsomer  and  less  attractive.  The  wistfulness 
of  her  few  sad  speeches  to  him  had  passed  away.  The 


A   NEW   DANGER  131 

vague  discontent  seemed  suddenly  to  have  become  fo- 
cussed  in  a  passionate  anger  against  this  untoward  stroke 
of  fate. 

"Well,"  said  Deane  at  length,  rising  as  though  about 
to  leave,  "I  hope  you  may  discover,  after  all,  that  your 
uncle  was  a  man  of  property." 

"Why  won't  you  help  me?"  she  asked  suddenly. 
"You  could  if  you  would." 

"Could  I?"  he  answered.     "I  wonder." 

"Of  course  you  could,"  she  declared,  coming  a  little 
nearer  to  him.  "I  suppose  I  seem  a  very  ordinary  dis- 
contented sort  of  creature  to  you,  but  you  have  n't  lived 
as  many  years  as  I  have  pushing  against  the  walls  of  a 
prison.  I  think  I  am  one  of  those  persons  who  would 
improve  a  good  deal  with  a  little  prosperity,"  she  added, 
with  a  sudden  smile  which  transformed  her  face,  a  smile 
which  was  almost  brilliant.  "Why  won't  you  help  me?" 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  would  like  me  to  go  to  London 
for  you,  and  search  through  your  uncle's  effects?"  Deane 
asked  quietly.  "  If  you  gave  me  a  letter,  I  suppose  I  could 
do  that." 

"Come  with  me,  then,"  she  begged.  "I  mean  to  do 
everything  for  myself,  but  there  are  many  little  things  I 
am  ignorant  about.  If  you  would  come  with  me,  I  promise 
you,"  she  added,  looking  into  his  eyes,  "that  you  would 
not  find  me  ungrateful." 


132  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"When  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"Monday  morning,"  she  answered. 

Deane  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out  for  a 
moment  at  the  tangled  wilderness  of  cottage  flowers, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  encouraged  to  grow  there  in 
wild  profusion  —  a  brilliant  spot  of  color,  as  he  remem- 
bered very  well,  from  the  sea  line.  In  a  day  or  so  at  most, 
this  girl  might,  if  she  realized  her  position,  or  if  she  were 
properly  advised,  be  in  a  position  to  bring  ruin  upon  him. 
An  alliance  with  her  was  obviously  the  very  best  thing 
that  could  happen  for  him.  Yet  he  felt  a  certain  distrust, 
a  certain  unexplained  reluctance  to  accepting  her  over- 
tures. If  she  discovered  her  power,  she  would  drive  a 
hard  bargain  —  he  knew  that  well  enough.  If  she  did 
not  discover  it  — 

He  turned  away  and  faced  her  suddenly.  "Yes!"  he 
said,  "I'll  help  you  if  I  can.  We'll  go  to  London  to- 
gether on  Monday  morning." 

A  curious  look  came  into  her  face.  She  drew  him  out 
of  the  room.  "Come,"  she  said,  "I  won't  ask  you  to  stay 
to  tea,  because  my  aunt  thinks  that  you  are  a  most  im- 
proper person.  I  '11  walk  with  you  back  across  the  marshes. 
I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  really  think,  and  I  want  to 
show  you  the  one  letter  I  received  from  my  uncle.  .  .  .  ' 

She  read  the  letter  to  him  as  they  walked  side  by  side 
on  the  top  of  the  dyke  path,  which  was  high  enough  now 


A  NEW  DANGER  133 

from  the  receding  waste  of  waters.  The  air  was  unusually 
salt.  Great  masses  of  seaweed  had  been  brought  in  and 
left  by  the  ebbing  tide.  The  wind  had  freshened  since  the 
morning.  She  walked  on  in  supreme  disregard  of  her 
disordered  hair  and  skirts. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "he  writes  distinctly  as  one  who 
has,  or  expects  to  have,  money.  Listen!  'I  did  no  par- 
ticular good  out  there,'"  she  read,  "'but  I  have  brought 
something  home  with  me  which  will  mean  a  fortune  of 
some  sort  or  another.  I  expect  you  have  had  quite  enough 
of  your  country  life,  and  you  won't  object  to  coming  and 
sharing  it  with  me.  I  am  rather  a  rough  sort,  and  I  have 
a  few  vices  that  your  respected  uncle  Sarsby  knows  all 
about,  but  I  fancy  you  will  get  a  better  time  with  me  than 
with  that  solemn  old  prig.  I  'd  like  to  do  what  I  can  for 
you,  though  we  have  n't  seen  much  of  one  another,  but 
your  mother  was  the  best  sister  a  man  ever  had,  and  for 
her  sake  I  look  upon  you  as  the  only  relative  I  've  got 
worth  counting."5 

She  looked  up  at  him  eagerly.  "Now  tell  me,"  she 
asked,  "  would  he  have  written  that  if  he  had  n't  something 
-  jewels,  or  estate,  or  something  of  that  sort,  which  he 
knew  was  going  to  bring  him  in  money?" 

"It  does  n't  sound  so,"  Deane  admitted. 

She  thrust  the  letter  back  into  her  pocket.  "You  will 
help  me,"  she  said,  her  face  glowing,  her  eyes  full  of 


134  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

anticipation.  "We  will  go  through  his  papers  carefully. 
We  will  find  out,  somehow  or  other,  what  he  meant.  Oh ! 
It  is  good  to  think  that  I  have  only  a  few  more  days  to  eat 
and  to  sleep  in  this  ghastly  wilderness." 

"You  may  be  disappointed,"  he  reminded  her. 

"Never!"  she  answered.  "My  uncle  was  no  fool. 
What  he  had  I  shall  discover." 

"You  may  be  disappointed,"  he  continued,  "in  the 
things  which  wealth  itself  brings  you.  You  may  find  life 
not  so  very  much  more  wonderful  a  thing  in  the  city  than 
here  in  the  wilderness." 

"Don't  you  believe  it!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  scorn- 
ful laugh.  "I  am  not  that  sort.  I  am  not  an  artist  who 
can  sit  about  here  for  days  and  potter  about  with  a  paint- 
box, and  look  at  a  sunset  or  a  streak  of  wild  lavender,  or 
the  shimmering  of  the  yellow  sands,  as  though  it  were 
something  so  marvelous  that  life  itself  stood  still  while 
they  realized  it.  I  like  beautiful  places  and  beautiful 
things,  but  I  hate  the  impersonality  of  it  all.  I  want  to 
feel  the  touch  of  lace  and  furs  and  fine  linen,  to  eat  soft 
food,  to  listen  to  music,  to  ride  when  I  want  to,  to  sleep 
when  I  want  to,  to  have  friends  who  admire  me,  men 
friends  worth  speaking  to,  different  from  these  yokels 
round  here.  I  suppose  I  have  got  it  in  my  blood,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  laugh.  "The  milk-and-water  ways  of 
life  don't  attract  me.  I  want  the  big  things." 


A   NEW   DANGER  135 

"Do  you  know  what  the  big  things  are?"   he  asked. 

"  When  I  have  found  my  way  where  I  mean  to  find  it,  I 
shall  know,"  she  answered.  "Here,  one  might  live  till 
one's  hair  was  gray  and  one's  looks  had  passed,  live  — 
if  you  call  it  living  —  and  never  once  see  over  the  wall. 
When  I  have  come  so  that  I  can  see  over  the  wall,  then  I 
will  tell  you,  if  you  are  still  curious,  what  the  big  things 
of  life  are  for  me !  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AN    EXPENSIVE    KEY 

IT  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Deane  softly 
opened  the  door  of  his  bedroom  in  the  Hotel  Universal, 
and  looked  up  and  down  the  side  corridor.  There  was  no 
one  in  sight,  no  sound  of  any  one  passing  in  the  main 
corridor,  a  few  yards  away.  For  several  moments  he 
stood  and  listened  intently.  Then  he  moved  a  few  yards 
to  the  left,  and  stopped  opposite  another  door.  He  scru- 
tinized the  number,  —  27.  It  was  the  number  he  sought. 
He  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  keys  which  he  had  collected 
from  various  sources.  One  by  one  he  tried  them  in  the 
lock.  In  vain!  Not  one  fitted.  He  tried  the  handle  of 
the  door  softly.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  The  door 
was  securely  fastened.  He  recognized  at  once  the  failure 
of  his  first  attempt,  and  returned  to  his  room.  His  bed 
was  as  yet  undisturbed.  He  had  not  even  changed  the 
tweed  travelling  suit  in  which  he  had  journeyed  up  from 
Rakney.  It  was  a  fool's  errand,  after  all,  he  thought,  on 
which  he  had  come.  Yet  somehow  or  other,  after  his 
conversation  with  Ruby  Sinclair,  after  he  had  realized 


AN  EXPENSIVE  KEY  137 

how  thorough  her  search  would  indeed  be,  how  con- 
vinced she  was  that  somewhere  amongst  the  effects  of  the 
dead  man  lay  the  secret  of  wealth,  he  had  realized  more 
completely  than  ever  before  the  danger  in  which  he  stood. 
Granted,  even,  that  no  suspicion  of  complicity  with  Rowan 
attached  to  him,  his  financial  ruin  would  be  none  the  less 
complete  if  that  paper  should  ever  come  into  the  hands 
of  people  who  understood  its  worth.  Never  had  the  situ- 
ation seemed  so  clear,  so  dangerous,  as  that  night  after 
he  had  walked  home  with  the  girl  and  turned  his  face 
again  toward  the  sea.  Something  in  the  very  desolation 
of  the  marshes  seemed  to  help  thought,  perhaps  by  the 
absence  of  any  distracting  object.  There  was  a  sense  of 
breadth  about  the  place.  As  he  walked,  with  only  the 
murmur  of  the  sea  in  his  ears,  he  saw  things  clearly.  He 
saw  himself  in  the  prime  of  life,  suddenly  flung  from  the 
place  to  which  he  had  climbed,  flung  down  to  join  all 
those  poor  millions  of  strugglers  whose  first  foot  has  yet 
to  be  planted  upon  the  first  rung  of  the  great  ladder.  He 
was  too  old  to  begin  at  the  beginning.  There  was  no 
place  for  him  down  amongst  those  on  whom  failure  had 
already  placed  her  mark.  He  could  not  have  borne  it. 
To  be  stripped  of  his  riches,  his  name,  the  position  of  which 
he  was  without  a  doubt  proud,  to  suffer  the  breaking  of 
his  engagement,  the  downfall  of  all  his  ambitions,  —  the 
very  thought  of  it  was  intolerable.  And  in  the  deep 


138  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

silence  of  that  night,  as  he  listened  to  the  gurgling  of  the 
sea  below,  and  the  faint  movement  of  the  wind  across  the 
level  land,  he  realized,  with  a  sudden  pain  at  his  heart, 
the  danger  in  which  he  stood.  In  three  days  the  girl  would 
be  there.  Scotland  Yard  would  send  one  of  its  myrmi- 
dons with  her.  She  would  have  free  access  to  all  the  dead 
man's  belongings.  She  would  take  with  her  a  lawyer. 
Every  scrap  of  paper  the  man  had  possessed,  every  trifling 
object,  would  have  its  value.  The  Little  Anna  Gold- 
Mine  was  world  famous.  There  would  be  no  chance 
of  their  overlooking  a  single  document  bearing  such 
a  name. 

Before  he  had  reached  his  strange  dwelling-place  he 
had  come  to  a  resolution.  Early  next  morning,  stopping 
only  to  leave  a  note  telling  the  girl  where  to  find  him  when 
she  arrived  in  London,  he  was  off  by  the  early  train.  By 
means  of  a  little  diplomacy  he  had  succeeded  in  gaining 
a  room  within  a  few  doors  of  the  one  in  which  Sinclair 
had  been  killed.  Only  a  few  feet  of  wall  separated  him 
from  the  room  in  which,  somewhere  or  other,  was  to  be 
found  the  paper  he  coveted.  Well,  his  first  attempt  had 
been  a  failure.  He  knew  quite  well  that  the  place  was 
paraded  by  night  watchmen,  and  that  any  attempt  to 
gain  an  entrance  into  the  room  by  orthodox  means  would 
result  in  prompt  discovery.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
done  until  the  morrow.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  bed 


AN  EXPENSIVE   KEY  139 

and  tried  to  sleep.  Waking  with  the  first  gleam  of  day- 
light, he  took  off  his  clothes,  bathed,  and  made  a  leisurely 
toilet.  Then  he  rang  for  the  valet  de  chambre.  The  man 
was  a  pleasant-faced,  loquacious  sort  of  fellow.  Deane 
talked  to  him  for  a  while,  and  then  made  his  effort. 

"Was  n't  it  upon  this  floor,"  he  asked,  "that  a  murder 
took  place  lately?" 

The  valet  looked  around  him  for  a  moment  before 
answering.  "Yes,  sir!"  he  replied.  "In  the  very  next 
room.  We  are  not  allowed  to  talk  about  it  more  than  we 
can  help." 

Deane  nodded.  All  the  time  he  was  watching  the  man, 
wondering  how  far  he  dared  go.  "Look  here,"  he  said 
"you  seem  an  honest  fellow.  I  suppose  you'd  have  no 
objection  to  bettering  yourself  in  life?" 

"No  objection  in  the  slightest,  sir,"  the  man  answered. 

"I  am  on  the  staff  of  a  newspaper,"  Deane  said  slowly, 
"and  my  people  are  particularly  anxious  that  I  should 
inspect  the  interior  of  the  room  in  which  that  murder  was 
committed.  Your  people  downstairs  have  absolutely  re- 
fused to  allow  me  to  do  anything  of  the  sort.  I  have  taken 
this  room  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  get  in  there.  Do 
you  think  there  is  any  chance  for  me?" 

"I  should  say  not,  sir,"  the  man  answered.  "The  door 
is  locked,  and  Mr.  Hartshorn  himself,  the  manager,  has 
taken  the  key." 


140  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

"There  isn't  such  a  thing  as  a  duplicate,  I  suppose?" 
Deane  asked. 

"Not  that  I  know  of,  sir,"  the  man  answered. 

"You  couldn't  suggest  any  means  by  which  I  could 
enter  that  room,  even  if  it  were  an  affair  of  say  fifty  pounds 
to  you?"  Deane  asked  calmly. 

The  man  started.  Fifty  pounds  was  a  great  deal  of 
money.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fifty  pounds  would  take 
some  earning.  "I  am  afraid  I  can't,  sir,"  he  said.  "There 
is  no  duplicate  key  that  I  know  of,  and  in  any  case  I  dare 
not  run  the  risk." 

"Fifty  pounds  is  not  enough,  perhaps,"  Deane  said. 
"Money  is  no  particular  object  to  me.  If  you  said  that 
you  thought  you  could  provide  me  with  the  key  for  a 
hundred  pounds,  I  would  willingly  pay  it." 

"I  am  afraid  not,  sir,"  the  man  answered,  turning  as 
though  to  leave  the  room. 

"Two  hundred  pounds!"  Deane  said. 

"  It  is  n't  a  matter  of  money,  sir,"  the  man  declared. 
"I  dare  n't  do  it.  I  should  be  certain  to  be  found  out,  and 
I  should  be  sent  away  without  a  character." 

"I  will  take  you  into  my  service,"  Deane  said. 

The  man  shook  his  head.  "Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  My  character  is  worth  a  good  deal  to  me.  I  think  I  '11 
keep  out  of  this,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Deane  called  him  back  imperatively.     "Let  us  under- 


AN   EXPENSIVE   KEY  141 

stand  one  another,"  he  said,  drawing  something  from  his 
pocket.  "Are  you  going  down  to  the  manager  to  tell  him 
what  I  have  told  you?" 

The  man  hesitated.  Deane  held  out  a  five-pound  note. 
"There  is  no  reason  for  you  to  do  so,  you  know,"  Deane 
said,  "just  as  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not 
accept  this  tip." 

The  valet  hesitated,  and  finally  accepted  the  five-pound 
note  which  Deane  was  holding  out. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  why  I  should  take  it,  sir,"  he 
said,  "but  there  is  no  reason,  after  all,  why  I  should  say 
anything  of  what  you  have  been  talking  about,  down- 
stairs." 

Deane  sat  in  his  chair,  waiting.  There  was  a  knock  at 
the  door  and  a  chambermaid  entered,  to  retire  at  once  in 
confusion.  Deane  looked  at  her  curiously.  Something 
in  her  figure  and  her  start  had  seemed  familiar  to  him. 
He  got  up  and  rang  the  bell.  In  a  moment  or  two  a  waiter 
appeared.  He  was  obviously  a  German,  dark  and  sallow. 
He  spoke  imperfect  English,  and  there  was  a  gleam  of 
cupidity  in  his  eyes  which  to  Deane  seemed  hopeful. 

"Bring  me  some  tea  at  once,"  he  ordered,  —  "nothing 
to  eat." 

The  man  departed,  and  reappeared  in  a  few  minutes. 

"Anything  else,  sir?"  he  asked,  after  he  had  set  down 
the  tray. 


142  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Deane  did  not  answer  him  directly.  "  By  the  way,"  he 
said  finally,  "  was  n't  there  a  murder  committed  in  one  of 
these  rooms?" 

"It  was  next  door,  sir,"  the  man  answered. 

"The  room  is  locked  up?"  Deane  asked. 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"That  is  a  pity,"  Deane  remarked.  "Do  you  know 
who  has  the  key  ?  I  should  very  much  like  just  to  have  a 
look  around." 

The  waiter  shook  his  head.  "The  key  is  downstairs 
in  Mr.  Hartshorn's  office,  sir,  and  we  have  no  duplicate 
here.  The  police  who  came,  they  desired  that  no  one 
should  enter  the  room  until  they  had  removed  the  effects 
to  Scotland  Yard." 

"So  I  was  told  downstairs,"  Deane  remarked.  "Do 
you  suppose,"  he  continued,  "  that  it  would  be  possible  to 
get  hold  of  a  duplicate  key?  I  should  like  very  much  to 
see  the  interior  of  that  room  —  if  possible  to  take  a  photo- 
graph of  it  for  my  newspaper.  I  am  willing  to  pay." 

The  waiter  shook  his  head  reluctantly.  "I  do  not 
think  that  there  is  a  duplicate  key,"  he  said,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  Deane's  right  hand. 

"Perhaps  you  could  make  inquiries,"  Deane  suggested 
smoothly.  "I  want  to  get  a  photograph  of  the  inside  of 
the  room  for  my  people,  if  possible.  It  would  be  worth 
quite  a  great  deal  of  money." 


AN  EXPENSIVE   KEY  143 

The  man  was  impressed.  "I  will  go  away  and  see,"  he 
said  slowly. 

"Keep  this  to  yourself,"  Deane  ordered.  "I  don't 
want  it  all  over  the  hotel." 

The  man  made  a  sign  of  assent  and  withdrew.  Deane 
rang  for  the  chambermaid.  Once,  twice,  three  times  he 
rang,  without  response.  Then  a  middle-aged  person 
came  shuffling  in,  very  much  out  of  breath.  Deane  gave 
her  some  trivial  order. 

"By  the  way,"  he  asked,  "are  you  the  chambermaid 
who  waits  on  this  room?" 

"No!"  she  answered,  with  some  hesitation.  "The 
regular  chambermaid  is  down  at  her  breakfast." 

Deane  nodded.  "Will  you  tell  her,"  he  asked,  "that  I 
should  like  to  see  her  as  soon  as  she  is  up  ?  I  want  to  see 
about  some  laundry,"  he  added. 

The  woman  disappeared.  Deane  was  left  alone  once 
more.  He  unpacked  some  books,  and  made  himself  com- 
fortable in  an  easy-chair.  He  was  not  able  even  to  descend 
to  the  smoking-room.  Mr.  Stirling  Deane,  it  was  well 
known,  had  left  town  for  Scotland.  Mr.  B.  Stocks,  who 
had  arrived  at  the  hotel  the  night  before  and  taken  this 
room,  was  a  person  who  had  particular  reasons  for  not 
desiring  to  be  seen  even  in  the  precincts  of  the  hotel. 
Deane  settled  himself  down  to  read  —  a  somewhat 
difficult  task.  By  the  time  he  had  smoked  several 


144  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

cigarettes,  there  was  a  soft  tap  at  the  door  and  the 
waiter  reappeared. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Go  ahead,"  Deane  answered. 

"I  have  found  a  key  in  the  service-room  which  I  think 
would  open  Number  27." 

Deane  nodded.  "Very  well,"  he  said,  "let  me  have  the 
use  of  it  to-night,  and  I  will  give  you  twenty  pounds." 

The  man  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue.  Twenty 
pounds  was  a  wonderful  sum !  But  — ! 

"There  is  a  good  deal  of  risk  about  it,  sir,"  the  man 
said  slowly,  "and  I  have  to  divide  with  the  night-porter, 
who  told  me  where  to  find  this  key." 

"Very  well,"  Deane  answered,  "I  will  give  you  twenty 
pounds  each,  —  no  more." 

The  man  placed  the  key  silently  in  his  hands,  and  Deane 
counted  out  eight  five-pound  notes. 

"If  I  were  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "if  you  want  to  be  alone 
in  the  room  and  be  sure  of  no  one  seeing  you,  I  should  use 
it  between  four  and  five  to-morrow  morning.  Everyone  is 
off  duty  then  except  the  night-porter." 

Deane  nodded.  "By  the  way,"  he  said,  "do  you  know 
anything  about  the  chambermaid  on  this  floor  —  the  young, 
slim  one?" 

The  waiter  shook  his  head.    "She  has  only  just  come." 

"Do  you  know  her  name?"  asked  Deane. 


AN   EXPENSIVE   KEY  145 

The  man  smiled.  "It  is  always  the  same,"  he  an- 
swered,—  "always  Mary." 

"  She  would  not  be  allowed  in  27  ?"  Deane  asked.  "  She 
would  not  be  likely  to  be  there  to  clean  it  out,  or  anything 
of  that  sort?" 

The  man  shook  his  head  again.  "No  one  is  allowed  to 
enter  it,"  he  said.  "No  one  has  been  in  but  the  detectives 
and  lawyers." 

Deane  dismissed  the  man  and  settled  down  once  more  to 
his  reading.  He  found  it  difficult,  however,  to  concentrate 
his  thoughts.  The  key  was  on  the  chair  by  his  side.  It 
was  all  he  could  do  to  restrain  himself  from  stealing 
down  the  corridor  and  commencing  his  search. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    SEARCH 

DEANE  remembered  afterwards,  with  a  painful  ex- 
actness, every  step  which  he  took  in  his  stockinged 
feet  down  the  dimly-lit  corridor.  Only  one  of  the  electric 
lights  had  been  left  burning,  and  that  one  was  encased  in 
a  shade  of  red  glass,  and  was  set  in  the  wall  facing  him. 
A  few  seconds  ago  he  had  heard  Big  Ben  strike  four  o'clock. 
For  the  last  two  hours  he  had  sat  in  his  room  and  waited. 
Time  seemed  to  have  stood  still.  In  that  two  hours  he 
had  seen  himself  stripped  of  all  his  possessions,  dishonored, 
friendless.  He  had  seen  himself  married  to  Lady  Olive, 
richer  and  more  prosperous  than  ever,  a  successful  politi- 
cian, a  man  on  whom  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  turned 
always  with  respect  and  approval.  Hope  and  fear  had 
swung  in  his  mind  like  the  movement  of  a  pendulum.  All 
that  he  needed  was  that  paper !  If  once  he  could  see  it 
burning  into  white  ashes,  or  torn  into  a  hundred  pieces, 
he  knew  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  strong  enough 
to  bar  his  progress. 

Four  o'clock  at  last !    At  the  sound  of  the  hour  he  had 
sprung  to  his  feet.     Before  the  echoes  of  the  last  stroke 


THE   SEARCH  147 

had  died  away  he  was  absolutely  committed  to  his  enter- 
prise. For  a  moment  he  stood  outside  the  door  of  his 
room,  which  he  had  left  ajar.  He  looked  toward  the  main 
corridor  and  listened  intently;  there  was  no  sound  to 
be  heard.  The  night  watchman  —  if,  indeed,  he  were 
making  his  rounds  —  was  nowhere  in  that  vicinity.  In  all 
the  great  hotel,  not  a  soul  seemed  to  be  stirring. 

Deane  drew  one  long  breath,  and  without  a  second's 
hesitation  stole  forward  until  he  stood  in  front  of  Num- 
ber 27.  Once  more  he  looked  around  him.  The  lights 
from  all  the  transoms  in  sight  had  been  extinguished. 
There  was  only  that  dimly  burning  electric  light  at  the 
end  of  the  corridor,  to  dissipate  the  gloom.  He  fitted  the 
key  into  the  lock  and  turned  it.  The  door  swung  open. 
Deane  closed  it  behind  him,  turned  on  the  electric  light, 
and  gazed  around  him  with  fast  beating  heart.  He  was 
there  at  last!  Within  this  room,  if  anywhere,  was  his 
salvation ! 

It  was,  after  all,  a  very  ordinary  hotel  apartment.  There 
was  a  small  single  bed,  a  wardrobe,  a  toilet  table  and  chest 
of  drawers,  a  hard,  uninviting-looking  sofa,  and  an  easy- 
chair  with  a  stiff  back,  and  armless.  Upon  the  bed  were 
laid  out  a  number  of  articles  of  wearing  apparel,  and  upon 
the  floor  were  two  empty  portmanteaus.  Upon  the 
dressing-table  were  a  number  of  papers,  arranged  with 
some  appearance  of  method.  The  toilet  things  were  still 


148  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

in  their  places.  Everything  was  arranged  in  a  stiff  and 
precise  condition.  It  was  evident  that  official  hands  had 
been  at  work. 

Deane's  rapid  glance  around  lasted  barely  a  few  sec- 
onds. Then  he  moved  toward  the  dressing-table  and  com- 
menced a  careful  search  amongst  the  papers  there.  One 
by  one  he  glanced  them  through,  —  a  bill  for  clothes,  a 
restaurant  account,  half-a-dozen  counterfoils  of  theatre 
and  music-hall  tickets,  an  account  for  wines  and  cigars 
consumed  on  the  steamer  Arizona,  homeward  bound  from 
Cape  Town.  There  was  the  address  of  a  manicurist,  a  pro- 
gramme of  the  Empire.  Very  soon  Deane  had  come  to  the 
end  of  them.  From  the  first  to  the  last,  there  was  not  a 
single  document  there  of  any  interest  or  importance. 

He  turned  away  toward  the  clothes  which  were  laid  out 
upon  the  bed.  One  by  one  he  lifted  them  up  and  laid  them 
down  again,  until  he  came  to  the  gray  suit  which  the  man 
Sinclair  had  been  wearing  on  the  day  when  he  had  made 
his  eventful  visit  to  the  city.  Deane  held  up  the  coat,  and 
a  little  exclamation  almost  escaped  from  his  lips  as  he  saw 
where  in  a  certain  place  the  lining  showed  signs  of  stitching, 
as  though  something  had  been  sewn  inside  the  pocket.  He 
thrust  his  hand  there.  There  was  an  opening,  but  it  was 
empty !  He  tried  the  other  side,  but  in  vain.  Then  he 
began  slowly  to  realize  that  this  search  of  his  was  doomed 
to  end  in  failure.  There  was  nowhere  else  to  look.  He 


THE   SEARCH  149 

glanced  at  his  watch.  Although  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  been  in  the  little  room  for  hours,  he  had  indeed  been 
there  for  barely  five  minutes. 

He  moved  toward  the  door,  opened  it  softly,  and  listened 
outside  in  the  corridor.  There  was  no  sound  of  anyone 
stirring,  no  sign  of  life  or  movement  anywhere.  He  re- 
turned to  the  room  and  renewed  his  search.  One  by  one 
he  lifted  up  the  different  articles  of  clothing  and  felt  in 
the  pockets.  His  search  was  rewarded  with  the  discovery 
of  a  single  halfpenny  in  an  odd  waistcoat  pocket.  He  left 
the  clothes  alone  then  and  went  through  the  papers  once 
more,  with  a  similar  lack  of  success.  Softly  he  opened  all 
the  drawers,  ransacked  the  wardrobe,  searched  every  inch 
of  the  room.  When  at  last  he  desisted,  it  was  because  there 
was  nowhere  else  to  look,  nothing  else  to  attempt.  He 
stood  up  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  drew  a  little 
breath.  He  had  found  nothing,  nothing  had  transpired 
to  compensate  in  any  way  for  the  risk  which  he  had  run. 
Yet  there  was  one  consolation.  It  was  scarcely  possible 
that  Ruby  Sinclair  could  be  more  successful  than  he.  The 
paper  which  might  make  her  fortune  and  ruin  him  was 
not  here. 

Deane  turned  at  last  toward  the  door.  There  was  no 
need  for  him  to  prolong  the  risk  he  ran.  He  would  re- 
turn to  his  room,  and  leave  the  hotel  later  in  the  morning. 

He  took  a  few  cautious  steps  toward  the  door.    Suddenly 


150  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

he  stopped  short  and  held  his  breath.  Very  slowly  he 
turned  his  head,  and  listened  intently.  Someone  was  stir- 
ring in  the  next  room.  There  was  a  connecting  door, 
hidden  by  a  curtain,  and  even  as  he  stood  there  he  heard 
the  handle  shake  as  though  it  were  being  turned.  He 
leaned  forward  and  turned  out  the  electric  light.  Stand- 
ing there  in  the  darkness  he  distinctly  heard  a  key  inserted 
in  the  lock  of  the  hidden  door.  He  heard  it  softly  opened 
and  the  curtain  pushed  back.  There  was  someone  else  in 
the  room,  someone  else  whom  he  could  not  see,  someone 
else  who  also  took  an  interest  in  the  effects  of  the 
murdered  man! 

There  was  an  interval  of  several  seconds  —  it  seemed 
minutes  —  it  might  well  have  been  hours.  Then  the 
stealthy  footsteps  came  towards  him.  A  little  stiff  rustle  of 
draperies  proclaimed  the  sex  of  the  intruder.  Without  a 
second's  warning,  the  electric  light  flashed  out  all  over  the 
room.  The  girl  would  have  screamed,  but  Deane,  who  was 
prepared,  leaned  forward,  and  his  hand  suddenly  closed 
over  her  mouth.  She  looked  at  him  with  dilated  eyes. 

"  You ! "  she  exclaimed.     "  You ! " 

"  Good  God ! "  he  answered.     "  Winifred  Rowan ! " 

Their  mutual  surprise  was  something  paralyzing.  They 
drew  apart  and  looked  at  one  another  as  they  might  have 
done  at  ghosts. 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 


THE   SEARCH  151 

Was  it  his  fancy,  he  wondered,  or  did  her  lips  curl  for  a 
moment  in  something  like  mockery? 

"I  came  to  repay  a  debt,"  she  whispered.  "I  came  to 
find  the  paper  which  you  are  afraid  may  fall  into  someone 
else's  hands.  I  came  to  search  for  it,  but  it  is  not  here." 

"And  I,"  Deane  answered. 

"  You  have  found  it,  perhaps  ? "  she  exclaimed. 

He  shook  his  head.    "It  has  gone !" 

"Perhaps  he  never  had  it,"  she  whispered. 

Deane  shook  his  head.  He  was  being  led  away  by  the 
excitement,  the  tenseness  of  the  moment,  —  the  unexpect- 
edness of  the  whole  situation.  "He  showed  it  to  me,"  he 
answered,  "only  just  before  that  night." 

"Ah!" 

The  monosyllable  seemed  to  leave  her  lips  dry.  She 
moistened  them  with  her  tongue,  and  moved  a  little 
towards  him.  There  was  something  in  her  face  which  he 
could  not  recognize.  And  then,  before  further  speech  was 
possible,  they  heard  something  which,  coming  so  unexpect- 
edly against  such  a  background  of  silence,  terrified  them 
both.  An  electric  bell  somewhere  close  at  hand  was  ring- 
ing out  its  sharp  summons  into  the  night. 

"What  is  that?"   Deane  asked  quickly. 

"  Someone  is  ringing  from  one  of  the  numbers  opposite," 
she  answered.  "Get  back  to  your  room  quickly.  They 
have  heard  us  talking.  Someone  will  be  in  here  to  search." 


152  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

"But  you?"  he  objected. 

"I  am  safe,"  she  answered.  "I  am  on  duty  on  this  floor. 
I  have  something  to  do  in  the  next  room.  Quick  ! " 

He  slipped  from  the  door.  The  little  side  corridor  was 
as  yet  empty.  For  a  second  or  two  he  listened  intently. 
There  were  no  footsteps  as  yet  audible  in  the  main  corri- 
dor. In  half-a-dozen  swift  strides  he  reached  the  door  of 
his  own  room,  turned  the  handle,  and  passed  inside.  Al- 
most immediately  there  were  footsteps  in  the  corridor  out- 
side. The  bell  of  the  room  opposite  was  answered.  Again 
silence !  The  seconds  grew  into  minutes,  and  the  minutes 
passed  away.  Then  his  door  was  suddenly  opened  from 
the  outside,  softly  and  silently.  Winifred  Rowan  stood 
there  on  the  threshold  of  his  room,  with  the  handle  of  the 
door  still  in  her  hand,  and  to  his  fancy  there  was  something 
ominous  in  the  way  she  looked  at  him. 

"You  need  search  no  more,"  she  said.  "I  have  found 
the  paper." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  "The  reward  is  yours!"  he 
declared. 

She  drew  away  from  him.  "I  shall  claim  it  very  soon," 
she  said.  "Ring  your  bell  at  seven  o'clock,  when  I  shall 
be  on  duty,  and  I  will  bring  it  to  you.  Hush ! " 

She  glided  away  and  closed  the  door.  Deane  drew  a 
long  breath.  So  it  was  over,  then,  —  over,  and  he  had 
won! 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN   DOUBT 

PUNCTUALLY  at  seven  o'clock  next  morning  Deane 
rang  his  bell.  Once  more  the  fat  old  lady  entered, 
with  her  amiable  smile  and  slow  movements. 

"Some  tea,  sir?"  she  asked. 

Deane  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  without  speaking. 
"When  does  the  other  chambermaid  come  on  duty?"  he 
asked. 

"She  ought  to  be  on  now,"  was  the  answer,  "but 
she  has  n't  come.  I  've  just  sent  the  '  boots  '  up  to  her 
room." 

Deane  ordered  some  hot  water  and  lay  still  for  half-an- 
hour.  Then  he  rang  the  bell  again.  The  same  woman 
came. 

"Would  you  like  your  tea,  sir?"  she  asked. 

"If  you  please,"  he  answered. 

She  was  already  half-way  out  of  the  door  before  he 
stopped  her. 

"You  are  still  on  duty,  then?"  he  said. 

"The  other  chambermaid  can't  be  found,  sir,"  she  an- 


154  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

swered.    "Her  bed  has  n't  been  slept  in,  and  she  does  n't 
seem  to  be  anywhere  about  the  place." 

Deane  nodded.  It  was,  after  all,  perhaps  the  most  sen- 
sible thing  she  could  do  to  get  clear  away !  "Send  me  my 
tea  at  eight  o'clock,"  he  ordered,  "and  let  me  have  a  bath 
at  once." 

"The  valet  shall  come  and  tell  you  when  it  is  ready,  sir," 
she  answered. 

He  passed  a  tip  across  to  the  woman,  who  accepted  it. 
"Tell  the  waiter  when  he  brings  the  tea  to  give  me  my 
bill,"  he  said. 

In  an  hour's  time  Deane  had  left  the  hotel.  He  had 
seen  nothing  more  of  Winifred  Rowan,  and  on  the  whole 
he  was  disposed  to  applaud  her  precaution.  He  drove  at 
once  to  his  rooms,  where  Grant,  his  man,  was  already 
installed. 

"I  shall  catch  the  mid-day  train  to  Scotland,  Grant," 
he  announced.  "Telephone  up  for  seats  and  sleeping- 
berths.  Also  telephone  to  the  office,  and  tell  them  to  ring 
up  here  at  once  if  a  young  lady  should  make  any  inquiries 
for  me.  Perhaps  they  had  better  send  her  on  here." 

He  went  out  and  did  some  shopping.  The  sun  was  shin- 
ing, and  a  soft  west  wind  blowing.  London,  which  seems 
to  hold  its  populace  longer  than  any  other  great  city,  was 
gay,  almost  joyous.  He  had  to  elbow  his  way  through 
crowds  as  he  passed  along  Piccadilly.  The  streets  and 


IN   DOUBT  155 

shops  were  thronged.  The  sky  above  was  blue.  The  rare 
sunshine  seemed  to  make  cheerful  even  this  most  sombre 
of  cities. 

Deane  had  the  feeling  of  a  man  who  has  escaped  from 
a  great  danger,  —  who  has  been  able  to  throw  off  a  heavy 
weight.  This  miserable  document  of  Sinclair's  was  as 
good  as  in  his  possession !  After  all,  Basil  Rowan  was  not 
suffering  in  vain.  The  girl  should  have  every  penny  that 
he  had  promised  her  brother !  Her  way  in  life  should  be 
made  easy !  It  was  a  very  small  price,  indeed,  to  be  free 
from  such  torture  as  he  had  suffered  during  the  last  few 
weeks.  He  bought  presents  a  little  recklessly  —  presents 
for  Olive  —  something,  too,  for  Winifred  Rowan,  a  gold 
cigarette-case  for  himself.  He  ordered  a  great  basket  of 
flowers  to  take  with  him  to  Scotland,  and  paid  a  visit  to 
his  gunmaker's.  Then  he  returned  to  his  chambers,  fully 
expecting  to  have  some  news  of  Winifred  Rowan. 

"Any  one  rung  up?"  he  asked  his  man. 

"  No  one,  sir,  of  any  importance,"  was  the  answer. 

"Did  you  ask  the  office  about  Miss  Rowan?" 

"No  young  lady  at  all  has  inquired  for  you  there,  sir," 
Grant  answered. 

Deane  was  a  little  surprised,  but  after  all  what  did  it 
matter?  He  travelled  up  to  Scotland  with  a  lighter  heart 
than  he  had  carried  for  months.  Lady  Olive,  who  met 
him  early  in  the  morning  at  the  small  wayside  station 


156  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

which  was  nearest  to  her  father's  seat,  was  amazed  at  his 
vivacity. 

"I  expected  to  find  you  a  pale,  worn-out  thing,"  she 
remarked,  as  their  motor-car  climbed  the  white,  stone- 
bordered  road  which  crossed  the  heather-covered  moun- 
tain. "You  don't  look  as  though  you  needed  a  change 
at  all." 

"I  Ve  found  so  swift  a  tonic,  you  see,"  he  answered, 
pressing  her  hand. 

She  laughed  gayly.  This  was  more  the  man  as  he  had 
been  before  the  days  of  their  engagement !  "  I  think  it  is 
the  smell  of  the  powder,"  she  said.  "You  men  are  all  like 
schoolboys  for  your  holidays.  Father  says  that  the  birds 
are  much  too  wild,  and  that  it  will  be  all  even  you  can  do 
to  hit  them." 

Deane  smiled.  "There  is  nothing  in  the  world,"  he  an- 
swered, "  which  I  want  to  do  so  much  as  to  lie  up  there  in  the 
heather  and  close  my  eyes,  and  feel  the  sun  and  the  wind." 

"In  other  words,"  she  said,  "you  are  lazy!" 

"Is  that  laziness ?"  he  asked.    "I  don't  think  so." 

"Rest,  then,"  she  said. 

"Ah!  That  is  a  very  different  thing!"  he  replied. 
"We  all  need  rest." 

"  Especially  you,"  she  said,  "  who  carry  about  with  you 
always  the  memory  of  some  things  from  which  you  can 
never  escape." 


IN   DOUBT  157 

He  looked  at  her  quickly,  but  it  was  obvious  that  her 
speech  was  wholly  unpremeditated. 

"I  often  wonder,"  she  said  calmly,  "when  I  see  you 
in  the  evenings,  how  you  manage  to  shake  off  all  your 
anxieties  so  easily,  for  I  suppose,"  she  continued,  "that 
success,  like  everything  else,  carries  always  its  anxieties." 

"Sometimes  more  than  failure,"  he  answered. 

"Well,"  she  continued,  "it  doesn't  seem  possible  to 
associate  the  word  'failure'  with  you.  Some  day  you 
must  tell  me  the  whole  story  of  your  life.  I  can  scarcely 
believe  that  there  has  ever  been  a  time  when  you  have  n't 
succeeded  in  anything  you  undertook." 

He  laughed  grimly.  "You  should  have  been  with  me 
in  Africa,"  he  said,  "after  the  fighting  was  over.  We 
expected  to  go  about  picking  up  gold  almost  on  the 
streets." 

"You  were  too  sanguine,"  she  laughed. 

"It  was  hard  enough  work  to  live,"  he  answered.  "I 
tried  many  things,  —  failures,  all  of  them ! " 

"Until  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine,"  she  remarked. 

"Until  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine,"  he  assented,  "and 
that,  at  first,  seemed  hopeless  enough.  The  mine  had 
been  deserted  twice.  The  natives  there  had  a  name  for 
it  which  means  the  Grave  of  Dead  Hopes ! " 

They  turned  into  the  avenue,  and  the  house  was  at 
once  visible,  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  lake,  large  and  a 


158  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

little  bare.  The  lawns  and  gardens  were  brilliant  with 
color,  and  the  hills  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  were 
purple  with  heather. 

"Well,  here  is  all  the  rest  you  want,"  she  said.  "We 
have  n't  a  neighbor  within  six  miles,  and  a  most  harmless 
lot  of  guests." 

He  drew  a  long  sigh  of  content.  The  tragedy,  indeed, 
of  the  last  few  weeks  seemed  to  lie  far  behind  in  some 
other  world ! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

RUBY    IS    DISAPPOINTED 

THE  solicitor  hung  up  his  silk  hat,  motioned  his  two 
visitors  to  seats,  and  took  his  accustomed  place 
in  front  of  his  writing-table.  "I  am  afraid,"  he  said, 
turning  toward  Mr.  Sarsby,  but  in  reality  addressing 
his  niece,  "that  your  visit  to  town  has  been,  in  some 
respects,  a  disappointment  to  you,  especially,"  he  con- 
tinued, "bearing  in  mind  the  letter  which  you,  my  dear 
young  lady,  have  just  shown  me.  Still,  there  is  no  getting 
away  from  facts.  We  have  carefully  examined  every 
paper  and  every  portion  of  the  personal  belongings  of  the 
deceased,  and  I  am  afraid  we  must  come  to  the  decision 
that  there  is  nothing  in  those  effects  worth  taking  away." 

"It  certainly  seems  not,"  Mr.  Sarsby  assented.  "I 
must  say  that  from  the  first  I  have  discouraged  my  niece 
in  her  expectations.  I  never  knew  Sinclair,  but  every- 
one spoke  of  him  as  being  a  shiftless  and  impossible  sort 
of  person." 

The  lawyer  nodded.  "From  the  state  of  his  effects," 
he  remarked,  "  that  seems  very  possible,  and  yet  one  can- 


160  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

not  help  wondering  what  it  was  that  he  had  in  his  mind 
when  he  wrote  to  your  niece,  —  what  it  was,  too,  that 
induced  him  to  take  rooms  in  a  hotel  like  the  Universal." 
Ruby  Sinclair  rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  She  came  to  the 
table  before  which  the  solicitor  was  seated,  and  she  looked 
down  at  him  with  blazing  eyes.  "  Can't  you  see,  you  two," 
she  exclaimed,  —  "can't  you  understand  that  the  man 
has  been  robbed  of  something?  He  would  never  have 
written  me  in  that  strain  if  he  had  not  believed  that  he 
possessed  something  which  was  at  any  rate  worth  money, 
and  a  great  deal  of  money.  He  would  never,  with  only 
twenty  pounds  in  his  pocket,  have  gone  to  a  hotel 
like  the  Universal,  drunk  champagne  there,  and  lived  as 
though  his  means  were  unlimited.  These  things  are 
ridiculous!" 

"But,  my  dear  young  lady,"  the  lawyer  commenced,  — 
"Can't  you  see  the  truth?"  she  exclaimed.  "My 
uncle  was  murdered.  Why?  What  was  the  motive? 
Robbery !  Do  you  think  that  it  was  for  the  sake  of  the 
twenty  pounds  or  so  that  he  had  on  him,  and  which 
were  found  untouched?  The  man  Rowan  was  in  South 
Africa  with  my  uncle,  —  he  knew  his  business.  It  was 
no  ordinary  quarrel,  this.  I  tell  you  that  Rowan  robbed 
my  uncle  of  something  —  I  don't  know  what  —  but 
something  which  was  the  backbone  of  this  letter!"  she 
exclaimed,  dashing  it  upon  the  table,—  "something 


RUBY  IS  DISAPPOINTED  161 

which  justified  him  in  staying  at  the  Universal,  something 
which  must  be  found  ! " 

The  lawyer  nodded.  "That  point  of  view,"  he  ad- 
mitted, "has  occurred  to  me,  I  must  confess.  And  yet, 
you  must  remember  that  the  man  Rowan  was  arrested 
upon  the  premises.  He  had  nothing  with  him  which 
could  by  any  chance  have  belonged  to  the  dead  man." 

The  girl  stamped  her  foot  impatiently.  "  Have  you  read 
the  evidence  at  the  trial?"  she  asked.  "It  is  very  clear 
that  this  man  Rowan  was  no  fool.  Whatever  he  wanted 
from  my  uncle,  he  secured  and  disposed  of  before  he  was 
arrested.  The  last  thing  he  would  do  would  be  to  carry 
about  with  him  on  his  person  anything  which  he  had 
taken  from  my  uncle." 

"What  you  suggest  may  be  possible,  of  course,"  the 
lawyer  remarked,  "but,  unfortunately,  we  have  not  the 
slightest  indication  of  it.  The  man  Rowan  was  not 
seen  to  speak  to  anyone  in  the  hotel,  and  it  is  known 
that  he  did  not  leave  it  after  the  quarrel  until  his 
arrest." 

"And  you  are  content  to  leave  it  like  that?"  the  girl 
asked. 

The  lawyer  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It  is  not  that  we 
are  content,"  he  said,  a  little  stiffly,  "but  there  certainly 
seems  to  be  no  cause  for  any  further  action." 

The  girl  turned  to  Mr.  Sarsby.     "We  had  better  go," 


162  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

she  said  abruptly.  "There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
staying  here." 

The  solicitor  accompanied  them  to  the  door.  "Miss 
Sinclair,"  he  said,  "I  can  sympathize  with  your  disap- 
pointment, but  I  do  beg  of  you  not  to  go  looking  for  a 
mare's  nest.  It  is  disappointing,  of  course,  to  find  that 
your  uncle  was  practically  a  pauper,  especially  after  that 
letter  of  his,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  men  in  his  position, 
I  am  afraid,  are  proverbially  given  to  exaggeration." 

"Thank  you,"  the  girl  said  sharply,  "I  think  that  we 
will  not  talk  about  this  any  more." 

Mr.  Sarsby  and  his  niece  walked  slowly  up  a  little  side 
street  which  led  into  the  Strand.  The  former,  who  was 
sharing  to  some  extent  his  niece's  disappointment,  found 
compensation  in  the  thought  of  a  speedy  return  to 
Rakney. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Ruby,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  very  much 
disappointed,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  we  have  wasted  our 
railway  fares  to  London.  It  can't  be  helped.  We  may  as 
well  make  the  best  of  it  and  get  back  at  once.  I  can  see 
no  reason  why  we  should  not  catch  the  three  o'clock 
train.  I  shall  be  able  to  play  my  match,  then,  with 
Colonel  Forsitt  to-morrow  morning." 

"You  can  go  and  play  your  match  if  you  want  to," 
the  girl  answered.  "I  am  going  to  stay  in  London." 

"To  stay  in  London?"  Mr.  Sarsby  repeated. 


RUBY  IS   DISAPPOINTED  163 

"I  mean  it,"  the  girl  answered.  "I  don't  mean  to  be 
robbed.  I  mean  to  stay  here  and  find  out  why  this  man 
Rowan  quarrelled  with  my  uncle,  and  what  my  uncle 
meant  when  he  wrote  to  me  about  a  fortune.  You  go 
back,  if  you  like,"  she  continued.  "Give  me  five  pounds 
to  stay  here  with,  and  I'll  come  back  when  I've  found 
out  the  truth." 

Mr.  Sarsby  was  aghast.  He  looked  at  his  niece  with 
wide-open  eyes.  What  had  come  to  her  that  she  should 
speak  of  such  a  sum  as  five  pounds  almost  carelessly ! 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  answered  decidedly, 
"  nor  shall  I  allow  you  to  stay  up  here  alone  —  a  most 
improper  proceeding,  I  should  call  it,  —  quite  unheard 
of.  We  will  go  back  to  the  hotel,  pay  our  bill,  have  a 
little  lunch  at  an  A  B  C  shop,  and  catch  the  three  o'clock 
train  home." 

"If  you  won't  let  me  have  the  five  pounds,"  she 
answered,  "all  right.  Good-bye!" 

She  turned  abruptly  away,  and  before  his  astonished 
eyes  plunged  into  the  stream  of  traffic,  making  for  the 
other  side  of  the  street.  He  followed  her  as  soon  as  he 
saw  a  safe  opening,  and  found  her  on  the  point  of  enter- 
ing a  small  restaurant. 

"My  dear  Ruby,"  he  exclaimed  sharply,  "you  are  mad! 
How  dared  you  leave  me  like  that?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.    "I  have  been  mad,"  she 


164  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

answered,  "to  live  that  awful  life  down  at  Rakney  for 
these  last  few  years.  I've  had  enough  of  it,  uncle.  I  am 
here,  and  I  am  going  to  stay  here.  If  I  can't  succeed  in 
what  I  am  going  to  undertake,  I  shall  try  and  find  some 
work." 

Mr.  Sarsby  gasped.  It  was  a  wholly  unexpected  revolt. 
"You  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  want  to  come  back  to 
Rakney?" 

"Never,  if  I  can  help  it!"  the  girl  answered.  "I  hate 
the  place.  I  hate  the  life.  I  am  tired,  sick  to  death  of 
it  all!"  she  cried  passionately,  "and  I  would  as  soon 
come  up  here  and  live  for  a  week  or  two,  and  then  throw 
myself  into  the  Thames,  as  go  on  with  it  any  longer.  If 
you  won't  let  me  have  the  five  pounds,"  she  continued, 
"I  have  enough  jewelry  with  me  to  fetch  about  that. 
The  money  would  only  mean  a  week  or  two  longer." 

"But  where  would  you  live?"  he  exclaimed.  "What 
would  you  do?" 

"That  is  my  affair,"  she  answered  simply.  "First  of 
all,  though,  I  should  go  to  Mr.  Deane,  and  I  should  ask 
him  to  help  me.  Any  man  of  common  sense  would  agree 
with  me  at  once  in  believing  that  my  uncle  was  robbed." 

"But  your  aunt?"    Mr.  Sarsby  exclaimed  weakly. 

"My  aunt  can  get  on  very  well  without  me,"  the  girl 
declared. 

Mr.  Sarsby  felt  that  a  situation  had  arisen  with  which 


RUBY  IS   DISAPPOINTED  165 

he  was  unable  to  cope.  The  only  thing  that  occurred 
to  him  to  do  was  to  temporize.  "You  will  have  to  come 
back  to  the  hotel,"  he  said,  "to  get  your  luggage.  We 
will  talk  it  over  on  the  way  there." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  the  girl  answered  carelessly, 
"only  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  there  is  nothing  to  talk 
over." 

Mr.  Sarsby  hailed  a  'bus  which  deposited  them  presently 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  semi-private  hotel  in  Mbntague 
Street  at  which  they  were  staying.  It  was  one  of  those 
establishments  which,  from  being  a  small  boarding-house, 
had  blossomed  out  into  a  hotel,  with  all  the  outward 
signs  of  its  more  prosperous  rivals.  There  was  an  entrance 
hall,  a  reception  office,  and  two  long-limbed  giants  in 
light  blue  livery,  who  spoke  every  language  except  their 
own.  The  people  who  frequented  it  were  either  Ameri- 
cans, or  people  from  the  isolated  country  places,  such  as 
Mr.  Sarsby  and  his  niece. 

"I  am  not  going  to  talk  anything  over  until  I  have 
had  some  lunch,"  the  girl  declared.  "We  need  not  go 
out.  It  is  only  eighteenpence  each  here.  You  can  afford 
that,  especially  as  you  are  probably  going  to  be  rid  of  me 
forever." 

Mr.  Sarsby  frowned.  "We  will  lunch  here  if  you  pre- 
fer it,"  he  said.  "I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  hesitated  at 
anything  on  the  score  of  expense." 


166  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

The  girl  laughed.  There  was  a  note  in  her  mirth  which 
was  strange  to  Mr.  Sarsby.  He  relinquished  his  well- 
worn  silk  hat  to  a  boy  in  buttons,  straightened  his  old- 
fashioned  tie  before  a  passing  mirror,  and  led  the  girl 
into  the  dining-room.  The  size  of  the  apartment,  the 
number  of  the  waiters,  the  indefinable  sense  of  being  in 
a  great  city,  which  had  oppressed  him  since  the  train  had 
rolled  into  the  terminus  on  his  arrival,  once  more  had  its 
effect  upon  him.  He  felt  sure  that  his  niece  understood 
nothing  of  what  she  was  talking  about.  He  drank 
bottled  beer  with  his  lunch,  and  soon  summoned  up 
courage  to  reopen  the  matter. 

"It  was  a  very  good  idea  of  yours,  my  dear  Ruby,"  he 
said,  "to  lunch  here.  I  am  sure  that  for  the  money  it  is 
a  most  excellent  meal." 

She  gave  vent  to  a  little  interjection  which  might  have 
meant  anything.  If  he  had  not  been  so  sure  that  she  was 
unused  to  such  magnificence,  he  would  have  believed  that 
it  was  intended  to  indicate  a  certain  amount  of  contempt 
at  her  entertainment. 

"And  now,"  Mr.  Sarsby  continued,  "let  me  speak  to 
you  seriously." 

The  suggestion  that  there  had  been  anything  of  mirth 
from  which  Mr.  Sarsby  desired  to  lead  the  way  appealed 
to  the  girl's  sense  of  humor.  Her  lips  parted,  and  the 
sullen  discontent  of  her  face  was  for  a  moment  lightened. 


RUBY   IS   DISAPPOINTED  167 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  "let  us  be  serious.  Go  on. 
Tell  me  what  you  have  to  |ay." 

"What  I  want  to  put  before  you  is  briefly  this,"  he  de- 
clared. "You  do  not  understand  the  impossibility  of  a 
young  girl  barely  twenty  years  old,  with  your"  —  he 
coughed  a  little  —  "personal  attractions,  being  left  alone 
in  London.  Of  course,  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  explain  to 
you  exactly  what  I  mean." 

"You  needn't,"  the  girl  interrupted  contemptuously. 
"Do  you  think  that  I  am  a  fool?  I  know  all  about 
those  risks  which  people  speak  about  with  bated  breath, 
and  I  should  like  you  to  know  that  I  am  quite  able  to 
take  care  of  myself.  I  am  not  afraid,  so  I  do  not  know 
why  anyone  need  be  afraid  for  me." 

Mr.  Sarsby  looked  at  her  and  wondered  where  amongst 
the  wastes  and  wind-swept  places  of  his  lonely  home  had 
the  girl  acquired  the  knowledge  which  she  alluded  to  so 
scornfully,  —  had  she  learned,  too,  he  reflected,  to  carry 
herself,  as  she  had  done  since  their  arrival,  with  an  ease 
and  assurance  which  he  had  tried  in  vain  to  emulate. 
He  realized  at  that  moment  that  all  further  argument 
would  be  wasted.  Nevertheless,  he  continued  to  ease  his 
conscience. 

"You  may  know  a  good  deal,"  he  said,  "or  think  you 
do,  —  girls  nowadays  read  and  talk  of  most  surprising 
things,  —  but  London  is  not  a  safe  place  for  a  young 


168  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

girl,  whatever  you  may  say,  especially  a  young  girl  with- 
out enough  money  to  live  on." 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  laughing  at  him  openly,  "that 
Rakney  is  a  safe  place.  Well,  I  have  tried  it  for  a  good 
many  years,  and  I  have  had  enough.  You  need  n't  be 
afraid,"  she  continued,  "that  I  shall  return  to  Rakney 
in  the  guise  of  a  prodigal  daughter.  If  I  don't  succeed  in 
tracing  Richard  Sinclair's  fortune,  I  shall  find  something 
else  to  do.  If  you  will  give  me  the  five  pounds  I  ask 
for,  it  will  make  things  easier.  If  not,  I  shall  get  on 
without  it." 

He  felt  that  he  was  being  weak.  Even  his  conscience 
told  him  that  greater  firmness  was  necessary.  And  yet 
he  recognized  something  in  the  girl's  demeanor  which 
assured  him  absolutely  that  any  protests  were  hopeless. 
There  was  a  hidden  strength  there,  shared  by  neither  her 
aunt  nor  himself,  —  something  which  kept  her  apart  from 
them,  —  which  made  him  half  believe,  in  spite  of 
himself,  that  what  she  set  herself  to  do  she  would 
accomplish. 

"At  least,"  he  said,  "we  must  know  where  you  are 
going  to  live." 

"There  is  no  need  for  you  to  stay  in  London,"  she 
answered,  "while  I  look  about  for  a  room.  I  know 
exactly  the  sort  of  place  I  am  going  to  take.  I  am  going 
out  in  the  Tube  to  one  of  the  suburbs,  where  a  bedroom 


RUBY  IS  DISAPPOINTED  169 

is  not  very  expensive,  and  I  shall  take  my  meals  out 
It  will  cost  me  very  little  to  live,  and  five  pounds  will  go 
quite  a  long  way.  By  the  time  it  is  spent,  I  think  that  I 
shall  have  discovered  something.  I  will  not  write  you 
for  any  more  money,  I  promise." 

Mr.  Sarsby  sighed.  "I  suppose  you  must  have  your 
own  way,"  he  said.  "I  don't  know  what  your  aunt  will 
say." 

She  laughed.  They  had  finished  their  luncheon  and 
had  risen  from  the  table.  "Enough  about  my  aunt,"  she 
said.  "She  will  have  all  the  anxiety  of  her  preserves  upon 
her  mind  directly,  and  I  think  she  will  be  glad  not  to 
be  bothered  with  me.  You  catch  your  three  o'clock 
train,  and  play  your  golf  match  to-morrow." 

"I  suppose  I  may  as  well,"  he  said  weakly,  "although 
I  never  can  putt  after  a  railway  journey." 

"Go  and  try,  anyhow,"  she  answered.  "We  will  say 
good-bye  to  one  another  here,  if  you  don't  mind.  The 
porter  will  take  care  of  my  luggage  until  I  have  taken 
my  room." 

"  I  suppose  if  I  were  to  stay  up  with  you  for  a  few  days," 
he  began,  — 

"Please,  uncle,  don't!"  she  began  firmly.  "It  isn't 
any  use.  You  have  been  kind  to  me  in  your  way,  but 
the  life  at  Rakney  is  horrible  to  me.  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  have  no  more  of  it.  You've  done  your 


170  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

best  for  me,  you  can't  do  more.  Good-bye!  There  is 
your  bag,  and  you  have  n't  too  much  time  to  catch  the 
three  o'clock  train.  Take  the  first  turn  to  the  left  from 
here,  and  book  to  King's  Cross  by  the  Tube.  Good-bye ! " 
Mr.  Sarsby  picked  up  his  bag  and  departed  without 
any  further  protest.  The  girl  stood  upon  the  steps  and 
watched  him,  and  as  she  watched,  some  of  the  darkness 
seemed  to  pass  away  from  her  face.  He  disappeared 
around  the  corner.  She  was  alone  —  free,  at  any  rate ! 
She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  the  dull  streets  and  gray  sky 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  become  like  the  walls  and  canopy 
of  a  new  paradise. 


BOOK    TWO 
CHAPTER  I 

FREE    TO    DIE 

AT  about  quarter  past  ten  in  the  morning,  a  man, 
still  young,  but  deathly  pale,  with  hollow  cheeks 
and  receding  eyes,  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  pavement 
outside  a  great  and  gloomy-looking  building.  A  nail- 
studded  door  had  just  been  opened  and  closed  to  let 
him  pass.  The  attendant,  who  wore  prison  livery,  leaned 
forward  curiously  to  look  at  him  as  he  walked  out  with 
uncertain  footsteps.  The  prison  doctor  stood  by  his  side 
and  called  a  four-wheel  cab. 

"You  are  sure,"  he  said,  "that  you  have  somewhere  to 
go  to,  Rowan?" 

"Quite  sure,  sir,"  the  man  answered. 

"Keep  your  courage  up,  my  man,"  added  the  doctor. 
"If  your  friends  can  afford  it,  go  down  to  the  South  at 
once.  You  will  find  it  easier  there.  There  's  your  cab. 
You  have  some  money,  have  you  not?" 

"  Plenty,  thank  you,  doctor,"  Rowar  answered.  "  You  've 
been  kind  to  me,  sir,"  he  added.  "Thank  you !" 


172  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"There  was  n't  much  I  could  do,"  the  doctor  answered, 
helping  him  into  the  cab,  "  except  to  get  you  out  of  this  hole. 
Make  the  most  of  your  time  now.  Good  luck  to  you ! " 

The  cab  rolled  off.  Rowan,  after  the  first  few  minutes' 
exhaustion,  due  to  his  unaccustomed  preparations,  leaned 
forward  on  the  seat,  looking  out  with  hungry,  wistful  eyes 
upon  the  world  which  he  had  scarcely  hoped  to  see  again. 
Very  soon  the  full  flood  of  London  traffic  was  flowing 
past  him,  the  streams  of  men  and  women  jostling  one 
another  upon  the  pavements,  the  long,  tangled  thread 
of  moving  vehicles,  taximeter  cabs,  hansoms,  and  wagons. 
The  sun  was  shining,  the  faces  of  the  people  seemed  to 
him,  accustomed  to  the  white,  hopeless  countenances  of 
the  men  he  had  passed  in  his  daily  exercises  and  in  the 
prison  infirmary,  unusually  buoyant  and  cheerful.  It  was 
a  glad  world,  this,  into  which  he  had  come,  a  world  which 
he  was  so  soon  to  leave.  It  was  hard  to  think  he  was  free 
only  that  he  might  crawl  away  into  some  corner  where  he 
could  die. 

The  cab  stopped  at  last  before  a  block  of  offices  in  a  by- 
street of  the  city.  Rowan  reluctantly  alighted,  and  cross- 
ing the  pavement  entered  the  building.  He  passed  through 
a  swing  door  to  a  desk.  A  small  boy  poked  his  head  out 
of  an  inquiry  office. 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  Miss  Rowan  is  employed  here?" 
Rowan  asked. 


FREE  TO   DIE  173 

"Yes,  but  you  can't  see  her,"  the  small  boy  answered. 
"She  's  in  with  the  guv'nor  now." 

Rowan  hesitated.  "Perhaps  you  will  kindly  tell  her, 
when  she  is  disengaged,"  he  said,  "  that  her  brother  is  here, 
and  would  like  to  speak  to  her  for  a  moment." 

The  office-boy  withdrew  his  head,  but  he  seemed  un- 
certain. Rowan  seated  himself  upon  a  hard  bench  set 
against  the  wall.  On  a  small  round  table  in  front  of  him 
were  pens  and  paper  and  a  copy  of  the  trade  journal. 
Rowan  turned  over  its  pages  listlessly  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  then  set  himself  down  to  wait.  It  was  quite  half- 
an-hour  before  a  door  in  front  of  him  opened,  and  Wini- 
fred Rowan  appeared.  She  looked  at  her  brother  in  blank 
astonishment.  She  was  paler  than  ever,  there  were  dark 
rings  under  her  dilated  eyes.  She  looked  at  him  as  one 
looks  upon  some  strange  monstrosity. 

"Basil!"  she  murmured.  "It  can't  be  you!  And  yet 
-Basil!" 

"It  is  I,"  he  answered. 

"Free?"  she  cried. 

He  laughed,  a  little  bitterly.  "They  have  let  me  out  to 
die,"  he  answered.  "The  doctor  to-day  signed  a  certifi- 
cate that  I  have  no  reasonable  chance  of  living  longer 
than  another  month,  so  here  I  am,  free,  Winifred,  if  you 
like  to  call  it  freedom." 

She  came  and  sat  on  the  bench  by  his  side.     At  that 


174  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

moment  it  was  hard  to  say,  from  their  appearance,  which 
of  the  two  seemed  the  nearer  death. 

"When  were  you  released?"  she  asked. 

" Half-an-hour  ago,"  he  answered.  "I  came  straight 
here.  I  wondered  whether  you  could  get  a  month's  vaca- 
tion, and  come  with  me  somewhere  south.  We  have 
enough  money  for  a  little  time." 

"If  they  will  not  let  me  go,"  she  answered,  "I  will 
leave.  That  is  simple  enough.  We  have  enough  money, 
Basil.  We  will  go  this  afternoon." 

He  shook  his  head.  "First,"  he  said,  "I  must  see  —  I 
must  see  —  " 

"Whom?"  she  asked. 

"A  friend,"  he  answered,  "someone  who  may  be  in- 
clined to  do  something  for  me,  —  not  for  myself,"  he 
added  hastily,  —  "  that,  of  course,  is  ridiculous  —  but  it 
is  of  you  I  am  thinking,  of  you  after  I  am  gone." 

"I  shall  be  all  right,  Basil,"  she  said.  "We  have  several 
hundred  pounds  left,  you  know." 

"It  is  not  enough,"  he  answered  firmly.  "Winifred, 
will  you  go  on  an  errand  for  me?" 

"Where  to?"  she  asked,  with  a  sudden  sinking  of  her 
heart. 

"  To  a  man  whose  address  I  will  give  you,  —  a  rich 
man,  a  great  man.  I  think  that  he  will  be  willing  to  do 
something  for  us.  His  name  is  Stirling  Deane.  I  will 
write  his  address  down  for  you." 


FREE  TO   DIE  175 

"Mr.  Deane!"  she  repeated.  "I  have  been  before  to 
see  him,  Basil.  I  went  before  your  reprieve  came." 

"Of  course,"  he  said.  "I  had  forgotten.  Well,  I 
want  you  to  go  up  to  him  now.  I  want  to  see  him,  but 
I  do  not  want  to  go  to  his  offices.  Where  do  you  live, 
Winifred?" 

"It  is  an  apartment  house  for  women  only,"  she  an- 
swered. "I  cannot  take  you  there." 

"Then  we  must  go  to  a  hotel,"  he  said.  "It  seems  a 
mockery  to  buy  clothes,  but  there  are  one  or  two  things  I 
must  have.  To-morrow  we  will  go  somewhere  south." 

She  glanced  at  the  clock.  "I  will  see  whether  I  can  get 
away  now," -she  said. 

She  disappeared,  and  came  out  again  in  a  few  minutes 
with  her  hat  on.  "  Come,"  she  said. 

He  led  her  to  the  cab  outside.  "We  will  drive  to  a 
hotel,"  he  said.  "When  we  have  taken  some  rooms,  you 
shall  go  and  see  Mr.  Deane.  I  think  that  he  will  come  to 
me  if  you  will  tell  him  that  I  am  free,  that  I  have  only 
three  weeks  to  live,  and  that  I  should  like  to  see  him." 

"Very  well,"  she  answered. 

They  stepped  into  the  cab.  "Tell  him  to  drive  to  one 
of  the  large  hotels,"  Rowan  said,  — "  any  except  the 
Universal." 

She  shuddered  as  she  gave  the  order.  She,  too,  had  her 
memories  of  the  Universal,  of  which  he  knew  nothing. 


176  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

Slowly  they  made  their  way  westwards.  The  girl  held  his 
hand  in  hers. 

"It  is  good  to  see  you  again,  Basil,"  she  said. 

"It  is  good  to  be  here  again,"  he  answered,  "to  be  out 
in  the  world,  even  though  it  be  to  die.  I  suppose  the  au- 
thorities have  really  been  kind  to  me.  It  is  as  much  as 
anyone  could  expect.  And  yet,  Winifred,  I  should  like 
you  to  remember  this  always.  The  quarrel  between  Sin- 
clair and  myself  was  of  his  seeking  —  not  mine.  The 
blow  of  which  he  died  was  struck  purely  in  self-defence. 
I  could  box  and  he  could  n't,  or  he  would  have  half 
killed  me  that  night." 

"I  know,"  she  answered  breathlessly.  "Don't  talk 
of  it." 

He  went  on,  as  though  not  hearing  her.  "He  came  at 
me  with  both  hands  clenched,  and  I  hit  him  under  the 
chin.  I  had  to,  or  he  would  have  killed  me  if  he  could. 
He  was  a  strong  man,  and  he  had  been  drinking  until  he 
was  half  mad.  It  was  not  my  fault,  Winifred." 

"Oh,  I  know  that !"  she  said.  "Try  and  forget  it  now. 
It  was  a  wicked,  wicked  accident." 

"Life  has  been  wicked  enough  for  you  and  me  lately," 
he  answered,  sighing.  "You  are  worn  to  a  shadow, 
Winifred.  I  suppose  it  is  this  wretched  typing,  day  by 
day.  We  must  put  an  end  to  it." 

She  shook  her  head.    "I  must  earn  a  living,  dear,"  she 


FREE   TO   DIE  177 

said.  "But  don't  bother  about  me.  I  shall  be  all  right. 
See,  he  has  stopped.  This  must  be  —  yes,  it  is  the  Grand 
Hotel.  Will  that  do?" 

He  nodded.    "Quite  well,"  he  answered. 

He  paid  the  cabman,  and  making  some  excuse  at  the 
office  about  luggage  to  come,  took  rooms.  Then  he  put 
Winifred  into  a  hansom,  and  wrote  down  for  her  Deane's 
address,  which  she  already  knew. 

"Bring  him  back  with  you  if  you  can,"  he  begged. 
'Bring  him  back  here.  I  shall  be  waiting  in  the  reading- 
room,  just  round  the  corner  there  to  the  right." 

She  hesitated.  "You  look  so  faint,  Basil,"  she  said.  "I 
am  not  sure  whether  I  ought  to  leave  you." 

"I  am  going  to  have  some  brandy  and  milk,"  he  an- 
swered. "I  am  going  to  sit  down  and  have  it  there  in 
that  corner.  I  shall  wait  till  you  come.  You  will  know 
where  to  look  for  me.  Hurry,  dear,  please.  I  shall  know 
no  peace  until  I  have  seen  Deane." 


CHAPTER  II 

A    LAPSE    OF    MEMORY 

DEANE  sat  at  his  desk,  immersed  once  more  in  the 
affairs  of  his  great  business.  His  cheeks  were 
bronzed  with  the  sun  and  heather-scented  wind.  His 
eyes  were  clear  and  bright.  All  traces  of  the  unsettle- 
ment  of  those  few  nervous  weeks  seemed  to  have  passed 
away.  One  thing  only  occasionally  disturbed  him  —  the 
non-appearance  of  Winifred  Rowan.  Since  those  few 
seconds  of  tremulous  excitement  when  they  had  stood 
face  to  face  in  the  darkened  room  of  the  hotel,  he  had 
neither  seen  nor  heard  from  her.  He  could  understand 
her  having  left  the  hotel  hurriedly.  He  could  have  under- 
stood her  keeping  away  for  a  day  or  two.  But  a  whole 
month  had  passed,  and  she  had  taken  no  steps  whatever 
to  communicate  with  him.  He  had  left  exact  instructions 
as  to  what  was  to  be  done  should  she  come  to  the  office 
while  he  was  in  Scotland.  He  had  had  the  whole  of  his 
private  letters  forwarded,  lest  by  chance  a  word  from  her 
should  fail  to  reach  him.  There  was  something  a  little 
ominous  in  this  absolute  silence,  something  which  troubled 


A  LAPSE   OF  MEMORY  179 

him  occasionally,  which  set  him  thinking,  wondering, 
whether  under  that  still,  quiet  demeanor  there  might  be 
qualities  of  which  he  had  taken  no  account,  —  whether 
indeed  she,  too,  were  not  a  schemer  who  meant  to  make 
the  most  of  this  opportunity  which  chance  had  thrown  in 
her  way. 

A  clerk  entered  and  stood  at  his  side.  "A  young  lady 
is  here  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  announced,  —  "Miss  Rowan." 

"Miss  Rowan,"  Deane  repeated  mechanically. 

"Yes,  sir !"  the  clerk  answered.  "We  have  instructions 
outside  to  let  you  know  if  she  called  at  any  time." 

Deane  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  With  a  few  quick 
words  he  dismissed  his  secretary  from  the  immediate 
business  in  hand.  "You  may  show  Miss  Rowan  in,"  he 
said. 

A  moment  or  two  later  she  entered.  Deane  watched 
her  with  a  new  curiosity  as  he  rose  to  his  feet.  She  was 
as  quietly  dressed  as  usual,  as  pale,  and  her  eyes,  except 
for  one  upward  glance,  seemed  always  to  be  seeking  the 
carpet.  There  was  something  curiously  negative  about 
her  appearance,  —  something,  it  seemed  to  him,  almost 
wilfully  so.  The  rich  brown  hair,  which  had  flashed 
almost  to  golden  in  the  morning  sunlight  at  Rakney,  was 
drawn  up  and  concealed,  as  though  the  owner's  sole  ob- 
ject was  that  it  might  escape  attention.  Her  clothes  were 
not  unbecoming,  but  they  were  the  quietest  of  their  sort. 


180  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Her  eyes,  which  should  have  been  beautiful,  were  so  per- 
petually veiled  and  hidden  that  their  quality  was  lost. 
Both  physically  and  in  her  reticent  speech  she  appealed 
to  him  more  than  ever  that  morning  as  a  woman  whose 
desire  seemed  to  be  to  creep  through  life  unnoticed. 

"  At  last ! "  he  remarked,  holding  out  his  hand  pleasantly. 
"I  have  been  expecting  to  see  you  for  some  time,  Miss 
Rowan." 

"You  have  been  expecting  to  see  me?"  she  repeated, 
raising  her  eyes  to  his.  "How  strange!" 

"Why  strange?"  he  answered,  glancing  around  the 
room,  and  lowering  his  voice  a  little.  "Don't  you  re- 
member at  our  last  meeting  you  promised  to  bring  my  tea 
a  few  hours  later?  Since  then,  I  have  not  even  seen  you, 
nor  have  you  sent  me  a  line." 

She  raised  her  eyes  again  and  looked  at  him.  They 
were  very  beautiful  eyes,  but  he  did  not  understand  the 
somewhat  blank  expression  which  shone  out  of  them. 
"I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said  quietly. 

Deane  would  have  been  irritated,  but  something  in  her 
manner  struck  him  as  so  strange  that  his  feeling  turned 
to  one  of  bewilderment.  "Come,"  he  said,  "you  are  not 
going  to  suggest  that  I  have  been  dreaming,  or  that  you 
have  had  one  of  these  fashionable  lapses  of  memory? 
You  remember  meeting  me  in  that  room  in  the  Universal 
Hotel?" 


A  LAPSE   OF  MEMORY  181 

Without  change  of  countenance  or  expression  she  an- 
swered, "I  have  never  been  in  the  Universal  Hotel  in  my 
life!" 

Deane  looked  at  her,  his  lips  a  little  parted,  and  as 
he  looked  his  feeling  of  bewilderment  grew.  "My  dear 
young  lady,"  he  protested,  "do  you  mean  to  tell  me  —  " 

"You  have  been  mistaking  me  for  someone  else,  I  think," 
she  said  calmly.  "There  are  so  many  people  about  who 
are  like  me.  We  will  not  talk  of  this  just  now,  if  you  do 
not  mind.  I  have  come  to  you  from  my  brother." 

"Well?"  said  Deane. 

"My  brother  is  free,"  she  went  on.  "He  was  released 
at  nine  o'clock  this  morning.  The  doctor  at  the  prison 
signed  a  certificate  that  he  has  only  a  month  or  so  to  live. 
He  is  free  on  the  understanding  that  he  goes  away  to  some 
quiet  place.  He  came  to  me  an  hour  ago.  It  is  at  his 
wish  that  I  am  here." 

"Go  on,"  Deane  rapped  out. 

"He  wishes  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "That  is  all.  He 
does  not  think  that  there  is  any  risk  about  it,  under  the 
circumstances.  We  are  staying  for  the  night  at  the  Grand 
Hotel.  To-morrow  we  shall  go  down  to  Devonshire  or 
Cornwall.  He  will  be  glad  if  you  will  come  and  see  him 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"I  will  come,"  Deane  said,  "but  first,  Miss  Rowan,  I 
must  have  an  understanding  with  you." 


182  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"An  understanding  with  me?"   she  repeated  slowly. 

"Naturally,"  he  answered.  "I  want  to  know,  first  of 
all,  whether  you  are  my  friend  or  my  enemy,  —  whether, 
in  short,  you  mean  to  play  the  blackmailer,  or  whether 
you  mean  to  return  to  me  that  document  which  you  ab- 
stracted from  amongst  Sinclair's  effects." 

She  drew  a  little  sigh.  "I  am  quite  sure  now,  Mr. 
Deane,"  she  said,  "that  you  are  mistaking  me  for  some- 
one else.  I  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

Deane  was  silent  for  several  moments.  He  was  feeling 
nervous  and  disturbed.  There  was  something  uncanny 
about  this  quiet,  persistent  denial,  —  the  still  face,  the 
steadfast,  beautiful  eyes,  which  seemed  yet  like  unlit  fires 
devoid  of  sympathy  or  apprehension. 

"I  scarcely  know,"  Deane  said,  "how  we  are  to  con- 
tinue this  discussion.  For  some  reason  or  other,  you  are 
sitting  there  within  a  few  feet  of  me  and  denying  some- 
thing which  we  both  know  to  be  the  truth.  You  have  a 
motive,  I  suppose,  but  whatever  that  motive  may  be,  you 
cannot  imperil  it  by  speaking  openly  here.  We  are  ab- 
solutely alone.  There  is  not  a  soul  within  hearing.  You 
and  I  both  know,  Miss  Rowan,  that  you  hold  that  paper 
to  obtain  which  your  brother  risked  his  life  and  met  with 
such  misfortune.  It  would  be  his  wish,  I  know,  that  you 
should  give  it  to  me.  The  terms  I  offered  him  for  its  re- 
covery were  surely  liberal.  If  you  think  otherwise,  tell  me 


A  LAPSE   OF  MEMORY  183 

your  price.  We  are  alone.  You  are  not  giving  yourself 
away.  Tell  me  your  price ! " 

"I  have  no  price,  Mr.  Deane,"  she  said,  "because  I 
have  no  paper.  I  am  not  a  thief,  nor  have  I  stolen  any- 
thing from  anybody.  All  that  you  say  is  strange  to  me. 
My  brother  is  waiting,  and  he  is  very  ill.  Will  you  come 
with  me  now,  or  will  you  follow  as  soon  as  you  can?" 

Deane  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed.  It  was 
not  altogether  a  natural  laugh,  but  it  was  the  only  relief 
he  could  find  from  his  overwrought  feelings.  "What  sort 
of  a  game  you  and  I  are  going  to  play,  Miss  Rowan,  I 
cannot  imagine,"  he  said.  "I  have  made  the  first  and  the 
obvious  move,  and  you  have  declared  your  opening.  We 
must  let  it  go  at  that,  I  suppose.  When  you  are  disposed 
to  talk  common  sense,  I  and  my  cheque-book  will  be  glad 
to  listen  to  you.  In  the  meantime,  let  me  beg  of  you  one 
thing,  and  that  is,  keep  that  paper  in  some  safe  place ! " 

She  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  little  sigh.  "You  are  mis- 
taking me  for  someone  else,  Mr.  Deane,"  she  said. 

He  crossed  the  room  and  fetched  his  hat  and  gloves 
from  a  cupboard.  He  glanced  into  a  looking-glass  for 
a  moment  to  straighten  his  tie,  and  met  the  girl's  eyes 
fixed  upon  him.  He  stood  quite  still,  watching.  She  was 
looking  at  him,  at  his  back,  as  he  stood  there.  There 
was  expression  in  her  face  at  last,  an  expression  which 
puzzled  him,  which  he  failed  altogether  to  understand. 


184  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

He  stood  quite  still,  with  his  fingers  still  upon  the  sailor 
knot  of  his  tie.  As  though  she  realized  the  possibilities 
of  the  mirror,  she  suddenly  turned  around.  When  he 
came  towards  her,  the  mask,  if  it  was  a  mask,  was  there 
once  more. 

"If  you  will  come  with  me,"  said  he,  "I  should  be  glad 
to  go  and  see  your  brother." 

They  passed  through  the  offices  side  by  side.  Many 
curious  eyes  followed  them.  Deane  paused  at  one  or  two 
of  the  desks  to  leave  a  few  parting  instructions.  Then 
he  handed  the  girl  into  the  electric  brougham  which  was 
waiting  at  the  door. 

"The  Grand  Hotel,"  he  told  the  man. 

He  got  in  and  seated  himself  by  her  side.  "Miss 
Rowan,"  he  said,  "you  are  beginning  to  interest  me 
exceedingly." 

"I  am  sure  that  you  cannot  be  in  earnest,"  she  an- 
swered, without  turning  her  head.  "I  am  a  most  un- 
interesting person,  living  a  most  uninteresting  life." 

"I  think  you  said  that  you  were  a  typist,"  he  remarked. 

"I  am,"  she  answered.  "I  am  employed  by  Messrs. 
Rubicon  &  Moore  in  St.  Mary's  Passage.  I  have  been 
there  for  three  years." 

"  With  occasional  holidays,"  he  remarked,  with  a  smile. 

She  shook  her  head.  "The  only  holiday  I  have  taken," 
she  answered,  "was  when  I  came  to  see  you." 


A  LAPSE   OF  MEMORY  185 

He  deliberately  leaned  forward  to  look  into  her  face. 
The  memory  of  that  moment  when  he  had  held  her  in 
his  arms,  the  breaking  of  the  storm,  the  thrill,  the  won- 
derful, unanalyzed  excitement  which  seemed  to  play 
about  them  like  the  lightning  which  was  soon  to  flash 
across  the  sea  and  land,  came  back  to  him.  He  looked 
deliberately  into  her  face,  —  still  as  the  grave,  —  at  the 
large  eyes,  which  were  listlessly  fixed  upon  the  stream- 
ing people. 

"You  are  the  most  amazing  person!"  he  said  softly. 
"Perhaps,  as  you  were  never  at  the  Hotel  Universal,  you 
were  never  in  Rakney?  Perhaps  it  was  not  you  who 
came  to  me  with  the  storm,  who  tapped  at  my  window, 
who  stood  there  like  the  daughter  of  the  storm  itself, 
who  —  " 

"It  was  I  who  came  to  Rakney,"  she  said.  "You 
know  that  very  well,  Mr.  Deane.  Neither  have  I  for- 
gotten it.  But  I  think  that  you  should  not  remind  me 
just  now  of  that." 

Of  course  she  was  right,  but  Deane  felt  a  little  un- 
hinged. Her  invulnerability  was  maddening.  "Per- 
haps not,"  he  answered.  "  Perhaps  I  have  no  right  to 
remind  you  of  that  night,  of  the  time  when  you  crept  in 
from  the  storm,  crept  into  my  arms." 

She  turned  her  head  slightly  away,  as  though  interested 
in  the  passing  throng.  No  flush  of  color  tinged  her  cheeks. 


186  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Her  straight,  firm  lips  never  trembled.  He  tried  to  take 
her  hand,  —  small  it  was,  and  encased  in  old,  neatly- 
mended  gloves.  She  drew  it  quietly  but  firmly  away. 
She  remained  silent. 

"Perhaps  I  have  no  right,"  he  continued,  "to  remind 
you  of  these  things,  but  neither  have  you  the  right  to 
deny  our  later  meeting.  You  are  playing  some  sort  of  a 
game  with  me,"  he  continued,  a  little  roughly,  "  and  your 
methods,  whatever  they  may  be,  include  a  lie.  Therefore, 
I  myself  take  license." 

"If  you  have  quite  finished,  Mr.  Deane,"  she  said, 
"I  should  be  glad.  My  visit  to  you,  and  all  the  circum- 
stances connected  with  it,  is  one  of  the  things  which  I 
wish  to  forget." 

"To  relegate  to  the  same  place  in  your  memory," 
he  remarked,  "as  your  brief  essay  in  the  role  of  a 
chambermaid." 

She  leaned  out  of  the  window.  "Here  we  are,"  she 
remarked.  "I  am  anxious  about  my  brother.  Please 
hurry." 


CHAPTER  III 

A    PAINFUL    INTERVIEW 

ROWAN  sat  still  in  his  corner,  and  although  the  hotel 
could  not  be  called  fashionable  —  perhaps,  in  these 
later  days,  scarcely  luxurious  —  the  little  ebb  and  flow 
of  life  upon  which  he  looked  seemed  tinged  with  a  pecu- 
liar bitterness.  His  hollow  eyes  followed  each  group  of 
these  men  and  women,  so  full  of  vivacity,  of  happiness, 
of  affairs.  The  envy  in  his  heart  was  like  a  real  and 
passionate  thing.  It  was  an  envy  scarcely  founded  upon 
comparisons.  For  them  was  life,  —  for  him  was  none ! 
In  front  of  him  always  was  that  ghastly,  unchanging 
verdict :  a  month  —  two  at  the  most  —  thirty  days  of 
ill-health,  of  suffering,  of  weakness,  and  after  that  — 
what?  He  caught  his  breath  with  a  little  shudder",  and 
calling  a  passing  waiter,  ordered  some  brandy.  He  looked 
around  and  longed  to  find  someone  to  speak  to,  someone 
to  occupy  his  attention  for  a  single  moment,  to  stop  the 
flow  of  gruesome  fancies  which  seemed  always  biting 
their  way  into  his  brain.  He  had  faced  death  readily 
enough  in  those  old  days,  when  Deane  and  he  had  ridden 


188  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

side  by  side,  and  the  bullets  had  whizzed  around  them 
like  rain,  and  the  dead  men  lay  in  heaps.  But  this  was 
different !  The  blood  ran  warm  in  their  veins  then,  their 
hearts  were  strong.  He  had  no  strength  now  to  battle 
with  these  fancies,  no  strength  to  do  anything  but  cower 
before  the  slowly  coming,  grisly  shadow  of  his  fate.  He 
looked  continually  at  the  door,  longing  always  for  the 
return  of  his  sister  and  the  coming  of  Deane.  Even  the 
prison  hospital  was  better  than  this. 

A  girl  passed  by,  young  and  beautiful,  carrying  in  her 
arms  a  little  dog.  She  threw  a  compassionate  glance  at 
Rowan,  and  he  felt  the  sweat  break  out  upon  his  fore- 
head. It  was  too  awful,  this !  He  was  rising  to  his  feet 
even  as  Deane  and  his  sister  entered  the  lounge.  He 
moved  toward  them  with  uncertain  footsteps. 

"We  must  have  a  sitting-room,"  he  said.  "I  cannot 
face  these  people.  I  am  beginning  to  feel  a  coward." 

Deane  went  to  the  office,  and  very  soon  they  found 
themselves  upon  the  third  floor,  in  an  apartment  over- 
looking Northumberland  Avenue,  gorgeous  with  plush 
and  gilt  mirrors,  stiffly  arranged  chairs,  an  ornate  chif- 
fonnier.  Rowan,  who  had  come  up  in  the  lift  muttering 
to  himself,  but  obviously  anxious  for  silence  from  his 
two  companions,  threw  himself,  almost  as  the  door  closed, 
upon  the  hard  couch. 

"I  am  broken !"  he  cried  out.    "I  am  broken !" 


A  PAINFUL  INTERVIEW  189 

Winifred  sank  on  her  knees  by  his  side,  her  arms  went 
round  his  neck.  Deane  turned  away  and  walked  to  the 
window  a  little  awkwardly.  Somehow  he  felt  that  it  would 
be  taking  a  mean  advantage  if  he  should  look  into  her 
face,  though  all  the  time  he  was  longing  to  see  if  her  eyes 
had  really  softened,  if  those  lips  were  really  trembling  a 
little,  lips  that  were  pressed  to  her  brother's  forehead. 

"Basil,"  she  whispered,  "you  mustn't!  Bear  up, 
please.  Mr.  Deane  is  here.  He  has  come  with  me.  Sit 
up  and  talk  to  him." 

Rowan  pulled  himself  together.  He  sat  up,  and  Deane, 
obeying  a  gesture  from  her,  crossed  the  room  once  more. 

"Rowan,"  he  said,  "I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you  like 
this." 

"It's  my  first  day  out,"  Rowan  answered.  "It's  a 
little  trying,  you  know,  especially  when  the  end  is  so 
near.  I  wanted  just  a  few  words  with  you,  Deane.  It 
is  good  of  you  to  come." 

Deane  nodded.  "I  only  wish  there  was  something  I 
could  do,"  he  said. 

"There  is  nothing,"  answered  Rowan. 

The  girl  turned  away.  "When  you  want  me,  Basil," 
she  said  softly,  "I  shall  be  in  the  next  room." 

"You  might  have  some  brandy  brought  up,"  he  said. 
"I  must  talk  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I  am  not  feeling 
very  strong." 


190  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"I  will  ring  the  bell  in  the  other  room,"  she  said,  "and 
order  it." 

She  disappeared  through  the  connecting  door.  Deane, 
who  had  found  himself  watching  her  slow,  even  progress, 
turned  once  more  to  the  man  who  sat  by  his  side. 

"I  never  thought  I'd  see  you  again,"  Rowan  com- 
menced. "I  did  my  best,  Deane.  I  made  friends  with 
Sinclair  all  right  —  he  was  glad  enough  to  have  anyone 
to  drink  with  —  and  before  long  he  began  to  tell  me 
about  his  claim  to  the  Little  Anna  Mine." 

"Did  he  believe  in  it?"  asked  Deane. 

"Absolutely,"  Rowan  answered.  "I  am  quite  sure 
of  that.  He  absolutely  believed  that  directly  he  put  it 
into  the  hands  of  any  solicitor,  you  would  have  to  come 
to  him  and  buy,  even  though  it  cost  you  half  your  for- 
tune. He  was  waiting  those  few  days  to  see  if  you  came." 

Deane  nodded.    "Tell  me  how  it  happened,"  he  said. 

"It  was  like  this,"  Rowan  continued,  speaking  hoarsely, 
and  with  difficulty,  "that  night  he  was  n't  quite  so  drunk. 
I  pressed  him  a  little  too  closely  about  his  claim,  and  where 
he  kept  the  paper.  He  was  suddenly  suspicious  and 
quarrelsome.  He  tried  to  turn  me  out,  and  when  I  wanted 
to  soothe  him  down,  he  struck  me.  He  was  a  strong  man 
and  I  was  weak.  I  think  that  he  meant  to  murder  me. 
I  remember  I  was  half  on  the  floor.  My  forehead  was 
bleeding  already,  and  he  was  coming  towards  me,  shriek- 


A  PAINFUL  INTERVIEW  191 

ing  with  rage.  '  I  am  going  to  finish  you ! '  he  called  out. 
Then  I  struck,  hoping  only  to  stun  him,  and,  as  you 
know,  the  blow  killed  him.  I  forgot  for  a  moment  about 
the  paper.  I  thought  only  about  making  my  escape.  I 
had  bad  luck,  and  I  did  not  succeed.  I  am  afraid  it 
was  a  bungling  sort  of  job,  Deane." 

"I  am  very  sorry  indeed,"  Deane  said,  "that  I  ever 
suggested  it  to  you." 

"It  wasn't  your  fault,"  Rowan  answered.  "Noth- 
ing of  this  sort  would  have  happened  if  he  had  n't  come 
for  me.  I  meant  to  rob  him  if  I  could  —  I  '11  admit  that 
—  but  no  more.  You  see  it  was  useless  for  me  to  try 
and  open  negotiations.  He  was  too  confident  altogether. 
He  spoke  of  a  million  pounds  as  his  price.  Tell  me," 
he  went  on,  "how  do  things  stand  now?  Who  has  pos- 
session of  the  paper?" 

Deane  hesitated  for  a  moment.    "  I  do  not  know." 

Rowan's  face  fell.  He  seemed  disappointed.  "I  had 
an  idea,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  you  might  have  made 
some  attempt  to  recover  it.  Everything  was  left  in  the 
room  at  the  hotel  for  some  time.  It  was  easily  done." 

"I  did  make  an  attempt,"  Deane  said  slowly.  "I 
have  searched  the  room  for  that  paper,  but  failed  to 
find  it." 

"You  yourself?"  Rowan  asked  eagerly. 

"Yes!    I  heard  that  there  was  a  claimant  coming  for 


192  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Sinclair's  effects,  and  that  they  were  going  to  be  removed 
to  Scotland  Yard.  I  took  a  room  at  the  hotel,  and  I  got 
hold  of  a  key.  I  went  through  everything  the  man  had." 

"It  was  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  gray  coat,  under- 
neath the  lining,"  Rowan  gasped. 

"I  found  the  place,"  Deane  answered,  "but  it  was 
empty." 

Rowan  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  forehead.  His  breath- 
ing was  becoming  difficult.  Already  the  excitement  was 
affecting  him.  "But  it  was  there  on  that  night!"  he 
exclaimed.  "He  took  off  his  coat  a  few  minutes  before, 
and  I  saw  him  feel  it  in  the  lining." 

"All  I  can  tell  you,"  Deane  answered,  "is  that  the 
lining  of  the  gray  coat  was  torn,  as  though  something  had 
been  abstracted.  The  paper  was  not  there.  It  was  not 
anywhere  in  the  room.  I  ran  a  risk,"  he  continued,  after 
a  moment's  pause,  "which  I  dare  not  think  of,  even 
now,  but  it  was  in  vain.  Someone  had  been  before  me." 

"Was  there  anyone  else  upon  the  scent,  then?"  Rowan 
asked. 

"Can  you  think  of  anyone?"  Deane  asked. 

Rowan  looked  at  him  with  distended  eyes.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  insinuate,"  he  began,  "  that  I  —  that  I 
had  given  it  away?" 

"Not  wilfully,"  answered  Deane.  "Is  there  anyone 
at  all  to  whom  you  spoke  of  this?" 


A  PAINFUL   INTERVIEW  193 

Rowan  shook  his  head.  "Only  to  my  sister,"  he  said, 
"and  she  is  as  silent  as  the  grave." 

"Nevertheless,"  Deane  said,  "the  paper  has  gone. 
Someone  has  it  —  is  holding  it  now  —  for  a  purpose,  I 
suppose.  There  can  but  be  one  purpose.  Perhaps,"  he 
added,  "you  had  better  ask  your  sister,  to  be  quite  sure 
whether  she  ever  mentioned  its  existence  to  anyone." 

"We  will  ask  her  at  once!"  Rowan  exclaimed.  "I 
will  ask  her  before  you.  Let  me  get  up.  Help  me.  I  will 
fetch  her." 

Deane  stretched  out  his  hand.  "No!"  he  said.  "You 
must  not  excite  yourself  Rowan.  I  will  knock  at  the  door 
and  call  your  sister." 

Rowan  lay  back,  gasping.  Deane  crossed  the  room  and 
knocked  at  the  door  which  led  to  the  inner  apartment. 

"Miss  Rowan,"  he  said. 

She  opened  the  door  almost  immediately.    "Yes?" 

Deane  stood  aside.  "Your  brother,"  he  said,  "has  a 
question  to  ask  you ! " 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   QUESTION 

WINIFRED  came  slowly  into  the  room.    It  seemed 
to  Deane,  watching  her  curiously,  that  she  had 
been  steeling  herself  to  defiance.     There  was  no  change 
in  her  expression,  and  her  lips  seemed  tighter  drawn  than 
ever.    She  went  at  once  to  her  brother's  side. 

"You  have  been  talking  too  much,  Basil,"  she  said. 
"You  know  that  it  is  not  good  for  you." 

He  leaned  across  to  the  little  table  which  stood  by  his 
side  and  helped  himself  to  brandy.  He  was  indeed 
looking  terribly  ill.  The  lines  under  his  eyes  seemed 
traced  with  a  coal-black  pencil,  and  his  hand  shook  so 
that  half  the  brandy  was  spilled. 

"Winifred,"   he  said,   "I   must  ask  you   a  question. 
You  remember  that  I  spoke  to  you  of  a  document  — 
Sinclair  had  it.    I  was  trying  to  deal  with  him,  trying  to 
get  it  back  for  Mr.  Deane  here." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  calmly,  "I  remember  your  speak- 
ing of  it." 

"We  have  reason  to  believe,"  he  continued,  gasping  a 


A   QUESTION  195 

little, — "reason  to  believe  that  it  has  been  stolen.  Mr. 
Deane  wants  to  know  whether  at  any  time  you  have 
mentioned  its  existence  to  anyone." 

She  looked  at  Deane  and  back  at  her  brother.  Her 
face  was  unchanged.  "No!"  she  said.  "I  have  men- 
tioned it  to  no  one." 

"You  see,"  her  brother  continued,  "it's  like  this.  No 
one  but  I  knew  of  that  paper.  Deane  here  told  me,  and 
I  told  no  one  except  you.  And  yet  we  have  evidence,  we 
know  that  it  has  been  stolen  from  Sinclair's  room  since 
his  death.  That  is  why  we  want  you  to  be  quite  sure 
that  you  did  not  mention  its  existence  to  anyone." 

"No  mention  of  it  has  crossed  my  lips,"  she  answered. 
"I  have  no  friends,  no  confidants.  I  have  spoken  to 
no  one  about  it.  Nothing  in  the  world,"  she  continued, 
"would  be  inore  improbable  than  that  I  should  have 
done  so." 

He  turned  to  Deane,  who  stood  by  with  impassive 
face.  "You  hear?"  he  exclaimed.  "You  hear?  I  was 
quite  sure  about  Winifred.  She  does  n't  go  talking 
about.  She's  no  gossip,  are  you,  Winifred?" 

"I  hope  not,"  she  answered. 

"I  have  no  reason,  I  am  sure,"  Deane  said  slowly, 
"  to  doubt  Miss  Rowan's  discretion." 

She  raised  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  met  his.  The 
faint  satire  in  his  tone  was  intentionally  provocative,  but 


196  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

it  failed  to  move  her.  Her  regard  of  him  was  entirely 
impersonal.  He  looked  away  with  a  light  shrug  of  the 
shoulders. 

"Well,  Rowan,"  he  said,  "it  seems  there  is  nothing 
further  to  be  done.  If  the  paper  does  turn  up,"  he  added, 
"I  shall  know  how  to  deal  with  its  holder.  In  the  mean- 
time, about  yourself." 

Rowan  laughed  a  little  hysterically.  "About  myself," 
he  repeated.  "That's  a  fruitful  subject,  is  n't  it?" 

"Doctors  make  mistakes  sometimes,"  Deane  said. 
"Let  us  hope  that  they  may  have  made  one  in  your  case. 
Anyhow,  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  com- 
fortable, and  have  the  best  medical  advice.  Go  wherever 
you  think  best,  and  send  me  your  address.  I  shall  not 
forget  that  your  accident  took  place  when  you  were  en- 
gaged upon  my  affairs." 

"You  are  very  good,  Deane,"  Rowan  said. 

The  girl  looked  up.  "Mr.  Deane's  kindness  is  quite 
unnecessary,"  she  said.  "We  are  in  no  want  of  money." 

"Your  sister  does  not  quite  understand,"  Deane  said, 
turning  to  him.  "We  have  been  through  too  many  rough 
times  in  Africa  together  to  stand  upon  ceremony  now. 
You  will  perhaps  be  able  to  explain  to  her  later  on." 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  turned  toward  the  door.  "I 
shall  expect  to  hear  from  you,"  he  said,  "as  soon  as  you 
have  decided  where  to  go,  —  either  from  you,  Rowan," 


A   QUESTION  197 

he  added,  shaking  hands  with  him,  "or  from  your 
sister." 

"You  are  very  kind,  Deane,"  Rowan  said.  "I  am 
sorry  I  have  made  such  a  mess  of  things." 

"It  was  not  your  fault,"  Deane  answered.  "Good-day, 
Miss  Rowan!" 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  but  she  did  not  offer 
to  take  his  outstretched  hand.  He  smiled,  and  withdrew 
it  at  once. 

"Good-day,  Mr.  Deane!"  she  said. 

The  door  closed  behind  him.  Rowan  was  watching 
his  sister  anxiously.  "Winifred,"  he  said,  "what  is  the 
matter  with  you?  You  were  scarcely  civil  to  Mr.  Deane." 

"Oh!  I  think  I  was,"  she  answered.  "In  any  case, 
we  don't  want  to  take  alms  from  him,  do  we?" 

"It  is  n't  exactly  that,"  Rowan  objected. 

"It  is." 

"He  can  afford  it,"  Rowan  declared.  "He  is  very  rich. 
A  thousand  pounds  to  him  is  like  sixpence  to  us." 

"It  doesn't  alter  facts,"  she  rejoined.  "I  do  not  like 
Mr.  Deane,  Basil.  It  is  through  him  that  this  trouble  has 
come  upon  us.  You  have  taken  enough  of  his  money." 

"And  when  I  am  gone?"  he  asked.  "What  about  you 
then?" 

"Have  I  ever  failed  to  make  my  own  way?"  she 
asked  quietly.  "I  shall  be  safe  enough,  Basil." 


198  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

He  commenced  to  cough,  and  very  soon  further  speech 
was  impossible.  He  was  painfully  exhausted.  She  sat 
by  his  side  until  he  went  off  to  sleep.  Of  his  hopeless 
state  there  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt.  He  was  wasted 
almost  to  a  shadow.  Even  in  sleep  his  breath  came 
heavily,  and  a  fever  seemed  upon  him.  She  stole  softly 
from  his  side,  and  stood  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  window, 
looking  out.  Below,  the  pulse  of  the  great  world  was 
beating  with  the  same  maddening  regularity.  The  stream 
of  wayfarers  swept  on,  the  roar  of  traffic  was  as  inevitable 
as  the  waves  of  the  sea.  She  stood  by  the  window  with 
small,  clenched  hands.  Behind  her,  his  loud  breathing 
seemed  to  beat  out  the  time  toward  Death. 

Deane  himself  was  one  of  those  wayfarers,  but  at  least 
his  thoughts,  as  he  was  being  whirled  eastward  in  his 
brougham,  were  fixed  upon  the  tragedy  which  he  had  left 
behind  him.  He  knew  very  well  that  it  was  not  a  ques- 
tion of  months  but  of  days  with  Basil  Rowan.  Was  it 
only  for  that  that  the  girl  was  waiting?  Her  whole  atti- 
tude towards  him  had  about  it  a  certain  flavor  of  mys- 
tery which  oppressed  him.  It  was  like  trying  to  face  an 
enemy  hidden  in  a  darkened  room,  listening  for  his 
footstep,  not  knowing  whence  the  blow  might  fall.  Not- 
withstanding the  warm  sunshine,  he  shivered  a  little  as 
he  descended  from  the  carriage  and  entered  his  offices. 


CHAPTER  V 

MUTUAL    INFORMATION 

THE  girl  was  sitting  in  the  middle  of  a  hard  horse- 
hair sofa,  her  elbows  upon  her  knees,  her  head 
resting  in  her  hands.  She  looked  across  the  dreary  apart- 
ment and  out  of  the  ill-cleaned  windows,  with  dull, 
despairing  eyes.  This,  then,  was  to  be  the  end  of  her 
dreams.  She  must  go  back  to  the  life  which  she  felt  to 
be  intolerable,  or  she  must  throw  herself  headlong  into 
the  maelstrom. 

There  was  one  other  occupant  of  the  room,  and,  curi- 
ously enough,  his  attitude  appeared  to  be  a  somewhat 
similar  one.  He  was  a  short,  thick-set  young  man,  with 
brown  moustache,  flashily  dressed,  with  a  red  tie,  an 
imitation  diamond,  and  soiled  linen  to  further  disfigure 
an  appearance  at  no  time  particularly  prepossessing.  He 
was  standing  with  his  legs  a  little  apart,  looking  out  into 
the  uninspiring  street.  His  hands  were  thrust  deep  down 
into  the  pockets  of  his  trousers.  He  had  all  the  appear- 
ance of  a  man  who  finds  the  burden  of  life  an  unwelcome 
thing.  Presently  he  began  to  whistle,  not  cheerfully,  but 


200  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

some  doleful  air  of  sentimental  import.  The  girl  upon 
the  couch  seemed  irritated.  She  herself  was  in  the  last 
stage  of  dejection,  and  the  sound  grew  maddening. 

"Oh,  don't  do  that,  please!"   she  exclaimed  at  last. 

He  turned  around  in  amazement,  for  the  first  time 
realizing  that  he  was  not  alone.  "I  beg  your  pardon," 
he  said. 

The  girl  remembered  that  he  was  a  stranger  to  her, 
but  after  all,  what  did  it  matter?  "I  asked  you  to  stop 
whistling,"  she  said. 

He  answered  "Certainly!"  and  continued  to  look  at 
her.  She  returned  his  gaze  with  a  disapprobation  which 
she  scarcely  attempted  to  conceal. 

"Sort  of  habit  I  get  into,"  he  explained,  "when  I'm  in 
the  dumps." 

"Does  it  do  you  any  good?"  she  asked.  "If  so,  I'll 
learn  how  to  whistle  myself." 

"Meaning,"  he  remarked,  "that  we  are  companions  in 
—  dumpiness?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  but  did  not  trouble  to 
reply. 

"I  wish  to  God,"  he  exclaimed,  "I'd  never  left  Cape 
Town!" 

Then  for  the  first  time  she  looked  at  him  with  a  gleam 
of  interest,  and  asked,  "  Do  you  come  from  South  Africa  ?" 

He  nodded.     "I  did,  and  I  only  wish  I  were  back  there. 


MUTUAL   INFORMATION  201 

I  could  always  keep  my  head  above  water  there,  but 
London  is  a  rotten  hole.  I  suppose  it's  because  I  don't 
know  the  runs,"  he  added  meditatively.  "Anyhow, 
it's  broke  me." 

She  continued  the  conversation  without  feeling  the 
slightest  interest  in  it,  but  simply  because  it  was  an  escape 
—  a  temporary  escape  —  from  her  thoughts.  "What  did 
you  come  over  for?"  she  asked. 

"A  fool's  errand!"  he  answered.  "I  lent  a  man  some 
money  —  a  sort  of  speculation  it  was  —  and  I  came  over 
to  see  how  he  was  getting  on." 

"And  I  suppose  he  'd  lost  it,"  she  remarked. 

"He  's  lost  himself,"  answered  the  man,  "which  is 
about  as  bad.  I  wish  I  could  lay  my  hands  upon  him. 
I  'd  get  a  bit  of  my  own  back,  one  way  or  another." 

"London  is  a  big  place,"  she  returned.  "People  are 
not  easy  to  find  unless  you  know  all  about  them." 

"This  man  left  South  Africa  only  a  month  or  so  ago. 
He  gave  me  an  address  here  where  he  said  I  should  al- 
ways hear  of  him.  I've  been  there  nearly  every  day. 
He  turned  up  there  all  right  regularly  after  he  first 
landed.  He  has  n't  been  there  at  all  for  two  months, 
and  they  have  n't  the  least  idea  where  he  is." 

"You  don't  even  know,"  she  asked,  "whether  the 
speculation  is  successful  or  not?" 

He  shook  his  head  gloomily.     "It  don't  make  much 


202  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

odds,  so  far  as  I  can  see,"  he  said.  "If  it  came  off,  he's 
bolted  with  the  profits.  If  it  did  n't,  he's  hiding  for  fear 
I  shall  want  my  money  back  again.  It's  a  rotten  sort  of 
show,  anyway." 

"What  was  his  name?"   she  asked  idly. 

"His  real  name,"  the  man  answered,  "was  the  same 
as  your  own,  —  that  is,"  he  added,  "I  think  I  heard  old 
Mrs.  Towsley  call  you  Miss  Sinclair,  did  n't  I  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  steadily  for  several  moments  without 
speaking.  He  was  not  a  person  of  quick  apprehensions, 
but  even  he  could  not  fail  to  see  the  change  in  her  face. 
Her  lips  were  parted,  her  eyes  were  suddenly  lit  with 
an  almost  passionate  fire.  The  change  in  her  features 
was  illuminating.  She  was  no  longer  a  tired,  depressed- 
looking  young  woman  of  ill-tempered  appearance.  Her 
good  looks  had  reasserted  themselves.  Life  seemed  to 
have  been  breathed  into  her  pulses. 

"His  real  name  was  Sinclair,"  she  repeated  softly. 
"He  came  from  South  Africa.  Tell  me  some  more  about 
Mm?" 

"Why?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"Because,"  she  told  him,  "my  name  is  Ruby  Sinclair, 
and  I  am  here  on  very  much  the  same  errand  as  you, 
only  with  this  difference,"  she  added,—  "I  know  where 
my  uncle  is.  I  know  what  has  become  of  him.  There 
are  other  things  for  which  I  seek." 


MUTUAL  INFORMATION  203 

He  came  over  from  the  window,  and  stood  on  the  hearth- 
rug by  her  side.  Some  part  of  her  excitement  had  become 
communicated  to  him.  "I  say,"  he  exclaimed,  "this  is 
a  rum  go,  and  no  mistake!  If  it's  the  same  man,  we 
may  be  able  to  help  one  another.  It's  Richard  Sinclair 
I  am  looking  for,  called  over  there  Bully  Sinclair.  He 
was  a  man  about  fifty  years  old,  been  in  South  Africa  for 
the  last  twenty  years,  a  mine  prospector  and  general  ad- 
venturer. He  'd  had  his  fingers  in  a  good  many  pies,  had 
Richard." 

"What  was  he  over  in  England  for?"  she  asked. 

The  young  man  hesitated.  "I  don't  know  that  there's 
any  harm  in  telling  you,"  he  said,  "only  remember  its 
information  for  information.  I'm  giving  you  the  whole 
show  away." 

"I'll  tell  you  all  you  want  to  know,"  she  interrupted. 
"Goon." 

"Well,"  the  young  man  said,  "he  came  over  to  lay  claim 
to  a  gold-mine  that  he  considered  he'd  been  done  out  of." 

"  A  gold-mine ! "  the  girl  repeated  breathlessly.  "  Was 
it  a  rich  one  —  very  rich,  I  mean  ?" 

"I  should  say  so,"  the  young  man  answered.  "It  was 
a  complicated  bit  of  business  —  the  mine  's  in  other  hands, 
you  see  —  but  Sinclair  reckoned  that  he  'd  got  a  claim 
to  it,  anyway,  and  he  expected  either  to  be  squared  for  a 
big  amount,  or  to  get  a  syndicate  to  take  the  thing  up. 


204  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

He  came  to  me  dead  on  his  uppers.  My  name's  Hefferom. 
He  and  I  had  been  pretty  thick  at  odd  times,  and  though 
we  'd  been  in  a  good  many  deals  together,  we  'd  kept 
friends  in  a  way.  He  came  to  me,  as  I  say,  in  Cape  Town, 
and  he  told  me  what  the  game  was.  He  wanted  a  matter 
of  two  or  three  hundred  pounds  to  get  over  to  this  side, 
and  to  start  things  properly.  Well,  I  thought  it  out,  and 
though  it  was  about  all  I  was  worth  in  the  world,  I  let 
him  have  it.  Over  he  comes.  I  got  a  letter  from  him  to 
say  he'd  landed,  and  never  another  line.  I  cabled  —  no 
answer.  Over  I  came  myself,  for  he'd  scarcely  left  Cape 
Town  before  a  little  affair  that  I  was  mixed  up  in  went 
plumb  wrong,  and  I  lost  every  penny  I'd  got  left.  So 
over  here  I  come,  and  I've  been  here  a  fortnight,  and  I 
tell  you  Sinclair  seems  to  have  vanished  from  the  face  of 
the  earth.  The  worst  of  it  is,"  he  continued,  "I'm  stoney- 
broke.  I  've  got  to  leave'  this  place  to-day  because  I  can't 
pay  my  bill,  and  I've  no  idea  where  to  raise  a  sovereign." 

The  girl's  sense  of  humor  triumphed  for  a  second  over 
her  excitement.  "There  are  your  diamonds,"  she  re- 
minded him.  "  I  heard  you  talking  about  them  at  dinner 
the  other  night.  One  of  them  you  said  was  worth  a  hun- 
dred pounds." 

"A  bluff,"  he  answered  readily.  "They  are  false, 
every  one  of  them.  I  talked  like  that  to  get  old  mother 
Towsley  to  let  my  account  go  on  a  bit,  but  she  wasn't 


MUTUAL  INFORMATION  205 

having  any.  Now,  I  say,  I've  told  you  my  story.  Tell 
me  why  you  are  so  keen  on  knowing  about  it." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  will  tell  you.  My  name  is  Ruby 
Sinclair,  and  I  am  the  niece  of  the  man  whom  you  have 
come  to  England  to  find." 

He  made  use  of  an  oath  for  which  he  forgot  even  to 
apologize.  "You  know  where  he  is!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Come,  remember  it  was  a  fair  bargain.  Information 
for  information!" 

"He  is  dead!" 

The  young  man  staggered  back.  His  first  emotion  of 
shocked  surprise  lasted  only  a  few  seconds.  Anger  and 
disappointment  took  its  place.  "Dead?"  he  exclaimed. 
"And  my  money  —  what  about  that?  What  he  left  be- 
longs to  me,  anyway.  It's  got  to  be  made  up.  I  can  show 
you  his  note  for  it." 

"You  had  better  wait,"  she  answered  coldly,  "until  I 
have  told  you  everything.  I  suppose  you  don't  read  the 
papers?" 

"Never,"  he  answered.    "What  good  are  they  to  me?" 

"They  might  have  been  of  some  use  on  the  present 
occasion,"  she  answered.  "They  might  at  any  rate  have 
saved  you  from  wasting  a  good  deal  of  time.  My  uncle 
was  murdered  in  the  Hotel  Universal  by  a  man  named 
Rowan." 

The  young  man  swore  again,  —  fluently,  volubly,  — 


206  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

swore  until  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  a  varied  and  ex- 
tensive vocabulary.  When  he  had  finished,  there  was  an 
excited  flush  in  his  cheeks  and  a  bright  light  in  his  eyes. 
"By  Rowan  —  Basil  Rowan?"  he  exclaimed.  "He  was 
one  of  us  out  there  when  we  were  prospecting  up  the 
Newey  Valley.  Look  here,"  he  continued,  "you  and  I 
have  got  to  have  this  out.  Murdered,  was  he  ?  Well, 
I'm  the  man  that  may  be  able  to  throw  some  light  upon 
that.  What's  happened  to  Rowan?  Had  he  anything 
to  say?" 

"I  will  tell  you  all  that  I  know,"  the  girl  answered. 
"My  uncle  wrote  me  directly  he  arrived  in  England.  He 
told  me  that  he  had  been  fortunate  in  Africa,  that  he  had 
come  to  take  possession  of  a  large  fortune,  and  that  he 
would  be  sending  for  me  in  a  very  short  time  to  live  with 
him,  and  that,  as  he  had  no  other  relative,  I  should  be 
rich  all  my  days.  I  replied,  of  course,  asking  whether  I 
could  not  come  at  once.  He  wrote  me  again  to  tell  me  to 
wait  for  a  day  or  two,  until  his  affairs  were  settled.  Then 
I  heard  no  more.  I  waited.  I  wrote  again.  I  waited,  and 
wrote  again.  There  was  no  reply.  I  found  afterwards 
that  my  letters  had  never  even  been  called  for  at  the  ad- 
dress where  he  told  me  to  write.  Then  one  day  a  stranger 
who  was  staying  at  Rakney  told  my  uncle  there  to  look 
at  the  papers.  We  found  the  story  of  his  murder.  He 
had  been  dead  some  time." 


MUTUAL  INFORMATION  207 

"Rowan  was  tried,  I  suppose?"  the  man  asked.  "Did 
he  say  what  his  motive  was?  Has  he  been  hanged?" 

"He  insisted  upon  it  that  it  was  a  quarrel,"  the  girl 
said.  "I  do  not  believe  him.  He  was  found  guilty  and 
reprieved.  I  saw  in  the  papers  last  night  that  he  had 
been  released.  I  believe  that  he  has  only  a  few  days  to 
live." 

"And  you?"    the  young  man  asked. 

"I  came  up,"  the  girl  said  slowly,  "to  take  possession 
of  my  uncle's  effects." 

"Have  you  got  them?"  he  asked  breathlessly. 

"Yes!"  the  girl  answered. 

"There  were  papers?"  he  demanded. 

"Some,"  she  answered,  "but  none. of  any  importance." 

He  looked  at  her  suspiciously.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  "Look  here,"  she  said,  "I  am  telling  you  the 
truth.  Look  at  me,  look  at  my  gloves  —  mended  half-a- 
dozen  times.  Look  at  my  clothes,  just  hanging  on  my 
back  and  no  more.  If  there  had  been  a  single  thing 
amongst  my  uncle's  papers  on  which  I  could  have  raised 
even  a  five-pound  note,  do  you  think  that  I  should  be  sit- 
ting here  like  this,  wondering  which  might  be  the  quickest 
way  out  of  the  world?" 

The  young  man  moistened  his  lips.  He  was  obviously 
in  a  state  of  excitement.  "Listen,"  he  said,  "among 
these  papers  was  there  a  sort  of  deed  on  yellow  parchment 


208  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

paper,  roughly  written,  with  a  government  stamp  in  the 
left-hand  corner,  a  paper  which  spoke  of  a  gold-mine 
called  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine?" 

She  shook  her  head  decidedly.  "There  was  nothing 
of  the  sort." 

Then  the  young  man  swore  again,  and  this  time  he 
seemed  to  surpass  himself.  "Your  uncle  was  robbed!" 
he  exclaimed,  —  "robbed  of  that  paper!  I  tell  you,"  he 
added,  "he  was  murdered  for  it,  and  for  no  other  reason  !" 

"How  do  you  know?"   the  girl  cried. 

"Why,  it's  as  simple  as  A  B  C,"  he  explained.  "He 
had  the  paper  in  his  possession  when  he  came  to  Eng- 
land. The  mine  has  been  claimed  by  a  great  syndicate 
who  are  working  it  now.  He  came  to  see  them,  to  make 
terms.  The  next  thing  we  hear  is  that  he  is  murdered 
and  the  paper  is  gone.  They  thought  that  no  one  else 
knew  of  it.  Young  lady,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  may 
thank  your  stars,  as  I  do,  that  you  and  me  have  come 
together.  We'll  have  justice,  and  we'll  have  that  fortune 
yet!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN    OPPORTUNE    ARRIVAL 

WITH  his  feet  to  the  sea,  and  his  head  pillowed 
by  many  cushions,  Rowan  lay  in  a  long  invalid 
chair  at  the  edge  of  the  little  strip  of  shingle  which  separated 
the  tower  of  Rakney  from  the  sea.  Every  limb  was  at 
rest,  every  nerve  seemed  lulled  into  quiescence.  The  sun 
and  wind  had  left  their  traces  upon  his  hollow  cheeks. 
It  seemed,  indeed,  as  though  Death  had  lifted  her  hand 
from  his  forehead.  It  was  only  when  one  looked  closer 
that  one  realized  his  terrible  weakness,  realized  how 
slender,  indeed,  the  thread  was  by  which  he  held  on  to 
life.  There  was  scarcely  a  breath  of  wind  stirring.  The 
sun  was  high  in  the  heavens,  and  the  whole  country  seemed 
lulled  into  a  state  of  almost  unnatural  repose.  The  dis- 
tant trees  were  motionless,  as  though,  indeed,  they  were 
simply  painted  things  against  that  background  of  deep 
blue  sky.  The  smoke  from  the  little  cluster  of  cottages 
crept  upwards,  straight  as  a  ruled  line.  The  cattle  in  the 
fields  seemed  all  asleep,  exhausted  by  the  unexpected  heat. 
The  sea  was  like  a  lake,  unruffled,  almost  unrippled. 


210  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

The  man  dozed,  and  Winifred  sat  by  his  side,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  steadily  and  yet  absently  upon  the  distant 
horizon.  A  week,  at  most,  the  doctor  had  given  him,  and 
after  that  —  what  ?  She  looked  backwards  to  the  window, 
—  the  window  through  which  she  had  entered  on  that  wild 
night  earlier  in  the  year.  She  looked  away  again  uneasily. 
She  was  afraid  of  such  moments  as  these.  It  was  to 
escape  from  them  that  she  had  protested  so  vehemently 
against  their  accepting  Deane's  offer  of  his  cottage. 

At  low  tide,  a  rough,  pebbly  road  led  from  the  village 
to  the  cottage,  as  well  as  the  dyke  footpath  higher  up. 
Along  this  came  two  people,  a  man  and  a  woman,  mere 
specks  at  first  in  the  distance,  but  rapidly  becoming  more 
and  more  evident.  They  walked  fast,  and  they  looked 
always  anxiously  toward  the  tower,  which  stood  out  at 
the  end  of  the  road  against  the  background  of  the  sky,  — 
a  curious,  almost  uncanny,  sort  of  building. 

"  If  they  see  us  coming,"  said  Ruby  Sinclair,  "  they  will 
certainly  try  to  prevent  our  seeing  him.  Our  only  chance 
is  to  come  upon  them  unexpectedly.  They  can  watch  the 
dyke  path  from  the  front,  but  few  people  ever  come  by 
this  road.  It  winds  about  so,  and  it  is  generally  thick 
with  sea  mud." 

The  man  nodded.  He  too  was  keeping  his  gaze  fixed  in 
a  strained  manner  upon  their  goal.  "Now  that  we  are 
so  near,"  he  said,  "so  near  to  him,  we  will  make  him  speak. 


AN  OPPORTUNE  ARRIVAL  211 

We  will  not  be  driven  away.  He  cannot  escape  from  us 
there." 

There  was  a  curious  air  of  determination  about  these 
two,  a  certain  grimness  which  seemed  common  to  both  of 
them,  as  they  hurried  along  the  rough,  stone-strewn  road. 
They  had  reached  the  last  hundred  yards  now,  and  their 
course  was  perfectly  straight.  They  walked  single  file 
along  the  little  stretch  of  marshland  which  served  as  a 
footpath. 

"  He  is  in  front,  lying  on  a  chair,"  she  whispered.  "  They 
won't  be  able  to  get  him  in  now  before  we  are  there." 

The  road  terminated  suddenly  upon  the  beach.  The 
man  and  the  girl  scrambled  up  a  little  shingly  mound. 
When  at  last  Winifred  heard  the  sounds  of  their  approach, 
they  were  already  between  her  and  the  house.  Any  at- 
tempt at  escape  was  useless.  She  came  a  few  steps  toward 
them. 

"Who  are  you,  please,  and  what  do  you  want?"  she 
asked  quickly. 

Hefferom  stretched  out  a  hand  toward  the  prone  figure 
of  Rowan,  who  was  lying  there  still  with  closed  eyes. 
"  We  want  a  few  words  with  your  brother,"  he  said.  "  We 
shall  not  keep  him  long,  but  it  is  very  important.  We 
have  come  a  long  way  to  see  him." 

"It  is  impossible,"  she  said  firmly.  "He  is  very  ill 
indeed.  The  doctor  allows  him  to  see  no  one.  I  don't 


212  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

know  how  you  found  your  way  here,  but  you  must  please 

return  at  once." 

"I  have  come  a  long  way/'  Hefferom  said  slowly. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  answered,  "but  can't  you  see  that  it 
makes  no  difference  ?    If  you  were  to  ask  him  questions, 
he  is  not  well  enough  to  answer  you  —  scarcely  to  under- 
stand.   Any  sudden  shock  at  all  —  even  a  recognition  — 
might  kill  him." 

Hefferom  hesitated  no  longer.  He  pushed  Winifred 
away,  and  motioned  to  Ruby  to  follow  him.  At  that 
moment  Rowan  opened  his  eyes  and  turned  his  head. 
Hefferom  walked  towards  him  and  leaned  over  his 
chair. 

"You  remember  me,  Rowan?"  he  said.  "My  name  is 
Hefferom,  Steve  Hefferom.  We  were  up  the  Newey 
Valley  together,  camped  out,  you  know,  at  Prince's  Gorge, 
for  more  than  a  month,  —  you  and  I  and  Deane,  and  a 
lot  of  us." 

"I  remember,"  Rowan  faltered,  trying  to  raise  himself. 
"Yes,  I  remember!" 

He  had  a  fit  of  coughing.  Winifred  passed  her  arms 
around  him  and  held  him  up.  "If  you  stay,"  she  whis- 
pered to  Hefferom,  "you  will  kill  him.  He  ought  not  to 
speak  ever  a  sentence." 

"It  isn't  much  we  want  him  to  say,  miss,"  Hefferom 
answered  doggedly,  "  but  there  's  a  question  he  's  got  to 


AN   OPPORTUNE   ARRIVAL  213 

answer.  If  he  is  as  near  death  as  you  say,  it  can't  make 
much  difference  what  happens,  and  it  means  more  than 
death  to  me  and  to  this  young  lady." 

Rowan  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  drink  from  a  glass 
which  Winifred  had  handed  to  him.  He  turned  once 
more  toward  Hefferom.  "That  is  all  finished,"  he  said 
painfully,  —  "  those  days.  I  am  ill,  —  too  ill  to  talk,  too 
ill  to  think,  too  ill  to  live !  Please  go." 

Hefferom  bent  over  him.  "Rowan,"  he  said,  "you 
and  I  were  never  enemies,  even  if  we  did  n't  exactly 
hit  it  off  together.  Listen  to  me  for  a  moment.  Sinclair 
borrowed  my  last  three  hundred  pounds  in  Cape  Town 
to  come  over  here  and  lay  claim  to  the  Little  Anna  Gold- 
Mine.  He  had  the  government  deed  with  him.  I  have 
seen  it.  I  followed  him  over  to  claim  my  share,  and  I 
found  him  dead,  killed,  and  the  paper  gone.  I  am  not 
asking  you  to  give  away  your  game,  whatever  it  was,  but 
we  want  the  paper.  This  is  Sinclair's  niece  with  me,  and 
I  am  his  partner.  We  inherit  his  claim  to  the  Little  Anna 
Gold-Mine,  and  we  want  that  document." 

"The  document  was  not  amongst  Sinclair's  effects 
when  they  were  examined  after  his  death,"  Rowan  said. 
"I  did  not  take  it.  I  do  not  know  what  has  become  of  it. 
That  is  the  truth.  Leave  me  alone  now.  I  cannot  talk 
any  more." 

His  head  dropped  back  upon  his  pillow.     He  was  white 


214  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

to  the  lips.  Winifred  hurried  to  his  side.  Once  more 
she  turned  upon  the  two. 

"Are  you  satisfied?"  she  cried.  "You  have  nearly 
killed  him  —  for  nothing.  I  know  very  well  that  no  doc- 
ument of  any  sort  such  as  you  describe  has  been  found. 
If  Mr.  Sinclair  ever  had  it,  it  was  probably  stolen  from 
him." 

"Stolen,  yes !"  Hefferom  said,  —  "stolen  right  enough ! 
That  is  what  we  are  here  about.  This  young  lady  is  his 
niece,  and  I  'm  his  partner.  What  was  left  behind  belongs 
to  us,  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  only  thing  worth  having 
was  that  document.  We  want  it,  and,  by  God,"  he  wound 
up,  "  we  've  got  to  have  it ! " 

"Do  you  imagine,"  the  girl  asked,  without  change  of 
countenance,  "that  you  will  find  it  here?" 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  do  imagine,"  Hefferom  answered. 
"Men  don't  commit  murder  for  nothing.  Your  brother 
tried  to  steal  that  paper,  or  rather  he  did  steal  it.  The 
game  's  up  now.  He  's  no  opportunity  to  make  use  of  it, 
and  it  belongs  to  us.  It  belongs  to  us  and  we  Ve  come 
for  it.  There,  now  you  know  the  truth.  We  've  come  for 
it,  and  we  've  come  to  stop  until  we  get  it." 

Rowan  raised  himself  a  little  in  his  seat.  "Hefferom," 
he  said,  "it 's  no  use  talking  like  that.  I  have  n't  got  it. 
I  '11  be  frank,  frank  as  you  have  been.  I  know  no  more 
than  you  do  who  has  got  it.  I  quarrelled  with  Sinclair, 


AN   OPPORTUNE   ARRIVAL  215 

and  he  got  suspicious.  We  fought  in  his  room,  and  the 
result  you  know,  but  I  was  arrested  before  I  left  the  hotel. 
Everyone  knows  that.  The  paper  —  I  never  had  it  —  I 
never  even  saw  it.  Where  it  is  now  God  only  knows. 
I  don't." 

Rowan  fell  back  in  his  chair,  coughing  violently.  For 
several  moments  he  was  incapable  of  speech.  Winifred 
knelt  by  his  side.  When  he  had  finished  coughing,  she 
held  a  wineglass  to  his  lips  and  made  him  sip  its  contents. 
He  lay  back  now  as  though  completely  exhausted.  She 
turned  to  face  these  unwelcome  visitors. 

"You  see,"  she  cried,  pointing  to  him,  "a  little  more 
of  this  and  you  will  kill  him.  Go  away,  both  of  you.  He 
has  nothing  to  tell  you." 

Hefferom  laughed  a  little  brutally.  "Come,"  he  said, 
"  this  game  won't  do.  We  are  here  for  the  truth,  not  to  be 
put  off  with  these  fairy-tales.  It  is  the  truth  we  want,  and 
the  truth  we  '11  have,  or  I  '11  wring  it  out  of  him  even  if  it 
kills  him." 

Rowan's  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  showed  no  sign  of 
having  heard.  Winifred  stood  up  boldly  before  him. 
"You  are  fools!"  she  said.  "He  has  told  you  all  he 
knows.  If  Sinclair  ever  had  the  deed  you  speak  of,  he 
parted  with  it  to  someone  else,  not  to  my  brother." 

"Someone  else!"  Hefferom  repeated.  "Do  you  take 
us  for  fools  ?  If  he  parted  with  that  deed,  he  parted  with 


216  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

it  for  a  fortune.  Where  's  the  money  ?  Show  us  the  deed 
or  the  money,  and  we  are  satisfied.  Show  us  neither,  and 
we  '11  not  leave  this  place  until  he  has  spoken." 

A  step  upon  the  shingle  behind  suddenly  diverted  their 
attention.  The  eyes  of  every  one  of  them  were  fixed  upon 
the  tall  figure  who  was  walking  swiftly  up  the  slope.  They 
had  been  so  engrossed  that  they  had  not  even  heard  the 
sound  of  the  motor-car  which  was  standing  there,  splashed 
with  mud,  and  with  its  engine  still  panting.  With  his 
glasses  in  his  hand,  and  his  long  gray  coat  thrown  open, 
Stirling  Deane  strode  up  to  them. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  arrived 
opportunely.  What  does  this  mean?  Who  are  these 
people?  Miss  Sinclair,  is  this  man  your  companion? 
What  does  he  mean  by  speaking  in  such  a  tone  to  a  dying 
man?" 

No  one  answered  him.  Hefferom  stood  as  though 
turned  to  stone,  but  his  eyes  never  left  Deane's. 


CHAPTER  VII 

HEFFEROM  IS    OPTIMISTIC 

RUBY  SINCLAIR  leaned  forward  and  touched  her 
companion's  back  as  they  flew  through  the  village 
of  Rakney.  "Look,"  said  she.  "You  see  that  cottage 
we  are  just  passing  ?  That  is  where  I  have  lived  for  the 
last  four  years." 

Hefferom  followed  her  outstretched  finger.  He  saw 
the  little  grove  of  bare  trees,  and  the  marshland  stretching 
out  beyond  to  the  bare  sea.  "Winter  and  summer?"  he 
asked. 

"Winter  and  summer." 

He  nodded.  "About  time  you  went  fortune-hunting!" 
he  said. 

No  other  word  passed  between  them  until  they  reached 
the  railway  station.  They  descended  from  the  car,  and 
watched  it  almost  immediately  swing  round  and  disappear. 

"So  this  is  the  end  of  our  little  excursion  to  Rakney," 
Ruby  remarked. 

"Yes!"   Hefferom  answered.    "Aren't  you  satisfied?" 

"Why  should  I  be?"  she  asked.  "What  have  we 
gained?" 


218  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Hefferom  drew  a  long  breath.  "Ah,  I  forgot !"  he  said. 
"You  don't  understand." 

He  drew  her  into  the  refreshment  room.  She  declined 
to  drink,  but  she  sat  in  a  corner  while  he  disposed  of 
several  whiskies  and  sodas.  At  first  he  would  say  nothing, 
and  she  waited.  Presently  he  began. 

"You  think,"  he  said,  "that  I  was  a  coward,  because 
when  Deane  bundled  us  off  in  his  car  and  told  the  man  to 
drive  us  to  the  nearest  railway  station,  I  did  not  protest. 
You  think  that  I  should  have  made  a  scene  there?  It 
was  n't  worth  while.  Deane's  coming  gave  the  whole 
game  away.  Don't  you  really  understand?" 

"Not  a  word,"  she  answered. 

"Listen,  then.  Stirling  Deane  is  the  man  who  is  sup- 
posed to  be  the  owner  of  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine, 
which  was  really  your  Uncle  Sinclair's." 

She  looked  at  him  with  gleaming  eyes.  "Say  that 
again,"  she  said.  "I  don't  quite  understand." 

"The  deed  which  is  missing  from  your  Uncle  Sinclair's 
effects,"  Hefferom  said  slowly,  "is  the  title-deed  to  the 
Little  Anna  Gold-Mine.  That  mine  was  illegally  taken 
possession  of  by  Stirling  Deane.  He  sold  it  to  the  com- 
pany, of  which  he  is  now  president,  at  an  enormous  price. 
He  is  the  man  with  whom  your  Uncle  Sinclair  came  to 
England  to  treat.  Sinclair  was  murdered.  By  whom? 
By  Rowan.  Who  was  at  the  back  of  Rowan?  Whose 


HEFFEROM   IS   OPTIMISTIC  219 

tool  was  he?  We  know!  Chance  this  afternoon  made 
everything  clear  to  us.  Can't  you  see  that  Rowan  killed 
your  uncle  and  stole  that  deed  to  save  Stirling  Deane  from 
ruin,  —  at  his  bidding,  as  his  accomplice?" 

"  It  takes  my  breath  away,"  the  girl  murmured.  "  Now 
I  think  of  it,  of  course,  it  is  Deane's  cottage  they  are  in. 
He  was  there  himself  only  a  few  weeks  ago.  It  was  through 
him  that  we  heard  of  my  uncle's  murder." 

"The  whole  thing's  as  simple  as  A  B  C,"  Hefferom 
declared.  "Can't  you  see  that  Deane  has  given  himself 
into  our  hands?  Of  course  Rowan  stole  the  deed!  Of 
course  Deane  has  it !  He  will  have  to  pay  for  our  silence ! 
By  God,  he  will  have  to  pay!" 

The  girl  looked  up  from  her  seat  on  the  leathern  couch, 
looked  at  her  companion  long  and  critically.  "Do  you 
think  we  can  hold  our  own  against  a  man  like  Stirling 
Deane?" 

"It  depends  upon  the  cards,  and  they  are  in  our  hands. 
We  must  go  back  to  London.  We  must  wait  till  he  is  at 
his  office.  Then  I  will  see  him.  You  can  leave  the  thing 
in  my  hands  now.  I  shall  know  how  to  approach  him. 
He  cannot  deny  his  friendship  with  the  Rowans.  They 
are  occupying,  even  at  this  moment,  his  own  cottage. 
Very  likely  I  shall  be  able  to  discover  other  things  con- 
necting him  with  them.  The  newspapers  you  showed  me 
spoke  of  great  influence  which  was  brought  to  bear  on  the 


220  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

granting  of  the  reprieve.  We  may  find  that  Stirling  Deane 
was  at  the  back  of  that.  Anyhow,  he  is  connected  closely 
enough  with  them.  I  am  here,  ready  to  swear  that  when 
Sinclair  left  Africa  he  left  with  the  original  title-deed  of 
the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine  in  his  pocket.  I  think  that 
the  friendship  between  his  murderer  and  Stirling  Deane, 
who  sold  that  mine  for  close  upon  a  million  pounds,  is  a 
thing  that  will  need  a  little  explanation." 

"And  in  the  meantime,"  said  the  girl  bitterly,  "we  are 
starving." 

"Not  quite,"  he  answered.  "We  have  thirty-eight 
shillings.  That  will  take  us  back  to  London,  and  find  us 
rooms  somewhere  for  the  night.  We  must  scrape  along 
somehow  until  I  can  get  to  Deane's  offices." 

"You  are  not  forgetting,"  the  girl  remarked,  "that  the 
thirty-eight  shillings  you  are  speaking  of  is  my  property?" 

"We  are  partners,"  Hefferom  declared.  "You  shall 
carry  the  purse  if  you  will,  but  there  is  no  object  in  it." 

"You  seem  to  do  most  of  the  spending,"  she  reminded 
him.  "If  you  think  that  we  can  afford  it,"  she  added, 
glancing  at  his  empty  glasses,  "I  should  like  a  cup  of 
tea." 

He  ordered  it  at  once,  and  sat  down  by  her  side.  "Look 
here,"  he  said,  "I  don't  see  what  you  want  to  be  so  bloom- 
ing stand-off  for.  Times  are  a  bit  rough  with  us  just  now, 
but,  you  mark  my  word,  we  shall  pull  through  all  right. 


HEFFEROM   IS   OPTIMISTIC  221 

This  man  Deane  is  in  the  hollow  of  our  hands.  He  has 
been  Rowan's  accomplice.  No  one  who  knows  the  facts 
could  possibly  doubt  it.  A  word  from  us  would  ruin 
him." 

The  girl  sighed.  She  had  drawn  a  little  away  from  the 
man.  "Do  you  believe,  then,"  she  asked,  "that  Mr- 
Deane  has  the  deed?" 

"Either  that,  or  it  is  destroyed,"  answered  Hefferom. 
"But  don't  bother  about  that.  Whether  the  deed  is  still 
existing  or  not,  we  know  enough  to  make  it  worth  his 
while  to  buy  us,  even  though  it  costs  him  half  his 
fortune." 

"In  the  meantime,"  the  girl  said,  "please  get  the  tickets. 
The  train  will  be  in,  in  a  few  minutes." 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said  suspiciously.  "Remember, 
we  're  partners." 

"Oh!  we  are  partners  right  enough,"  she  answered, 
rising  and  following  him  out  of  the  place.  "You  need  n't 
be  afraid  that  I  am  going  to  let  you  go.  Just  now  you  are 
all  that  stands  between  me  and  a  return  to  Rakney." 

On  the  way  up  to  town  he  began  to  build  castles.  He 
was  optimistic,  sanguine  in  the  extreme.  The  girl  listened 
almost  stolidly.  Her  companion  had  begun  to  depress 
her.  He  was  badly  dressed,  his  linen  was  soiled,  his  imi- 
tation jewelry  was  hideous.  He  sat  opposite  her  in  the 
train,  and  there  were  things  in  his  face  from  which  she 


222  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

shrank.  She  was  more  than  thankful  that  they  were  not 
alone. 

"Are  you  tired,  or  what?"  he  asked  at  last,  a  little 
sullenly.  "Surely  I  made  it  all  plain  enough?  You  don't 
doubt  that  there  's  money  in  this  for  us?" 

"There  should  be,"  she  admitted  slowly.  "And 
yet  —  " 

"And  yet  what?" 

"I  have  seen  Mr.  Deane  before,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 
"  I  have  talked  with  him  once  or  twice.  Somehow  or  other, 
when  I  think  that  it  may  come  to  be  a  struggle  between 
you  and  him  —  " 

He  interrupted  her  with  a  brazen  laugh.  "You  think 
I  won't  be  able  to  stand  up  against  him !  Well,  you  shall 
see.  There 's  a  good  deal  in  holding  the  cards,  you 
know." 

"You  have  n't  the  deed,"  she  reminded  him. 

"I  don't  want  it,"  he  answered.  "I  am  not  afraid  of 
Stirling  Deane.  I  have  known  him  a  good  many  years, 
and  he  knows  me.  We  are  up  against  one  another  now, 
and  you  may  fancy  his  chances ;  but  I  tell  you  my  back  's 
against  the  wall,  and  his  is  n't.  He 's  there  fighting  in  the 
open.  I  've  got  him,  I  tell  you,  —  got  him !" 

She  half  closed  her  eyes.  This  was  not  the  way  in  which 
she  had  hoped  to  come  into  her  fortune.  In  her  heart,  she 
could  not  believe  a  word  he  said.  Deane  was  a  strong  man ; 


HEFFEROM   IS   OPTIMISTIC  223 

Hefferom,  she  was  already  beginning  to  discover,  was 
nothing  but  a  bully  and  a  craven.  If  it  came  to  a  duel 
between  the  two,  she  found  it  easier  to  believe  that  Heffe- 
rom would  be  worsted. 

At  King's  Cross  Station  they  separated.  Hefferom,  a 
little  sulkily,  accepted  his  dismissal,  and  parted  with  half 
of  the  money  which  he  had. 

"You  can  go  where  you  choose,"  she  said.  "You  can 
come  back  to  Mrs.  Towsle/s,  if  you  like,  but  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  except  while  we  are  on  business  I  think  it 
better  that  we  should  stay  apart." 

"I  can't  see  why,"  he  muttered. 

"For  one  thing,"  she  said,  "we  might  be  taken  for  ad- 
venturers. I  do  not  know  much  about  the  law,  but  it 
seems  to  me  you  won't  be  very  far  out  of  its  clutches  when 
your  negotiations  with  Mr.  Deane  begin." 

"  I  can  take  care  of  myself,"  he  answered  gruffly.  "  Can 
I  see  you  back  to  the  old  lady's,  anyhow?" 

"No!"  she  answered.     "I  would  rather  go  alone." 

"Come  and  have  one  drink  in  the  refreshment  room, 
just  to  wish  ourselves  luck,"  he  begged. 

She  went  in  with  him  and  drank  a  cup  of  coffee.  He 
had  two  liqueurs,  and  would  have  had  more,  but  she 
dragged  him  sharply  away. 

"Remember,"  she  said,  "that  I  have  nothing  more  I 
can  raise  money  on.  These  few  shillings  are  all  we  have. 


224  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

If  Mr.  Deane  does  not  return  for  several  days,  we  must 
leave." 

"Deane  will  come  back,"  he  said,  with  a  defiant  laugh. 
"I  let  him  have  things  his  own  way  to-day,  but  he  knows 
just  where  he  is.  Mark  my  words,  he  will  be  at  the 
office  to-morrow  morning,  and  he  will  be  there  expecting 
to  see  me." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A    BOLD    MOVE 

HEFFEROM  was  over  sanguine.  It  was  three  days 
before  he  was  able  to  see  Stirling  Deane.  During 
that  three  days  he  had  lived  on  a  few  shillings,  spent  mostly 
in  drinks.  He  swaggered  into  Deane's  office,  an  untidy, 
dissolute-looking  creature.  His  efforts  to  seein  at  his  ease 
were  almost  ludicrous. 

"A  bit  different,  this,  to  the  Newey  Valley,"  he  remarked, 
as  he  sat  down  without  waiting  for  an  invitation.  "Things 
have  gone  pretty  well  with  you,  eh,  Deane?  Slap-up 
offices  you  've  got,  and  the  chink  of  money  everywhere. 
It  reminds  me  of  what  I  've  come  about." 

"You  have  come  for  money,  have  you ?"  Deane  asked. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  don't  know  how  you 
look  at  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  there  's  a  bit  owing,  a 
bit  which  might  come  my  way.  I  should  tell  you,  perhaps, 
that  I  am  representing  Miss  Sinclair  as  well  as  myself." 

"Richard  Sinclair's  niece?"  Deane  asked. 

"Exactly.  She  is  heiress  to  anything  the  old  man  had, 
and  I  was  partner  with  him  in  the  Little  Anna  Gold- 
Mine." 


226  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"In  what?"  asked  Deane. 

"In  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine,"  Hefferom  repeated 
distinctly. 

Deane  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  "I  must  ask  you  to  ex- 
plain yourself,"  he  said.  "The  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine 
belongs  to  the  syndicate  of  which  I  am  a  director." 

"That 's  all  very  well  for  a  bluff,"  answered  Hefferom, 
"  but  you  got  rid  of  Sinclair  a  little  too  easily." 

"Got  rid  of  him?" 

"Oh !  I  'm  not  thinking  of  this  last  time,"  Hefferom  in- 
terrupted, with  a  hard  laugh.  "I  am  thinking  of  the  time 
he  put  you  on  to  the  mine,  and  you  took  possession  of  it." 

"It  was  perfectly  legal,"  Deane  remarked. 

"  Perhaps  so,  —  perhaps  it  was  n't,"  Hefferom  an- 
swered. "Anyway,  I  know  very  well,  and  so,  probably,  do 
you,  that  Sinclair  left  South  Africa  six  months  ago,  with 
the  government  title-deed  of  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine 
in  his  pocket.  I  advanced  him  the  money  to  come,  and 
he  made  me  his  partner." 

"These  are  amazing  statements  of  yours,"  Deane  said. 
"May  I  ask  where  is  this  wonderful  deed?" 

"You  may  ask,"  Hefferom  answered,  "but  not  me. 
Better  go  to  Rowan.  He  knows,  though  he  keeps  his  lips 
tight  sliut.  He  knows,  and  so  do  you !  Never  mind  about 
that.  You  don't  want  a  lawsuit,  —  no  more  do  we." 

"Who  are  'we'?"  Deane  asked. 


A  BOLD   MOVE  227 

"Miss  Sinclair  and  myself,"  Hefferom  answered.  "We 
are  partners  in  this.  I  have  come  to  you  as  a  reasonable 
man.  Sinclair  landed  in  this  country  with  the  title-deeds 
of  the  mine  which  you  have  always  considered  yours,  in 
his  pocket  To-day  he  is  murdered,  and  his  papers  have 
disappeared.  He  was  murdered  by  Rowan,  whom  you  are 
now  befriending.  There  's  a  story  there  for  the  newspapers, 
—  there  's  something  more  than  a  story,  Deane." 
"  Do  I  understand,"  Deane  asked  calmly,  — 
"  You  can  understand  what  you  please,"  Hefferom  said. 
"I  want  my  money  back,  and  I  want  big  interest.  And 
then  there  's  the  girl.  She  should  be  standing  at  this  mo- 
ment in  your  shoes.  Half  of  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine 
is  hers  by  right.  It  is  for  you  to  say  what  it  would  be 
worth  your  while  to  put  down  to  close  this  business." 

"Now,"  Deane  remarked  suavely,  "you  are  talking 
common  sense.  But  what  I  should  like  to  know  is,  where 
is  this  wonderful  title-deed?" 

"Oh,  d — n  you,  it's  in  the  fire,  I  suppose!"  Hefferom 
cried.  "You  and  he  know.  Rowan  's  your  man,  and  he 's 
the  sort  to  die  game.  But  he  did  n't  kill  Sinclair  for  nothing. 
I  would  n't  mind  betting  that  that  deed  has  been  burnt 
to  ashes,  but  even  then,  I  know  a  little  too  much,  eh?" 

Deane  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  know  a  great  deal 
too  much,"  he  said.  "I  am  to  understand,  then,  finally, 
that  you  want  me  to  buy  your  silence?" 


228  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"Put  it  that  way  if  you  choose,"  Hefferom  answered, 
"only  I  warn  you  that  I  haven't  come  here  on  a  child's 
game.  This  is  a  big  business,  —  a  big  business  for  me  and 
for  the  girl.  She  must  have  her  share,  and  I  mine." 

"And  the  amount?" 

"One  hundred  thousand  pounds.  Remember  that  it 
has  to  be  divided." 

"In  other  words,"  remarked  Deane,  "I  am  to  buy  your 
silence  as  to  these  matters  upon  which  you  have  spoken, 
for  the  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand  pounds?" 

"It  is  too  little,"  Hefferom  declared.  "The  mine  is 
worth  ten  times  as  much  —  the  mine  and  your  position." 

"If  I  give  you  this  sum,"  Deane  asked,  "do  I  under- 
stand that  it  closes  the  whole  affair?  You  must  re- 
member that  I  do  not  admit  having  even  seen  this  deed 
you  spoke  of.  Supposing  it  turns  up  in  somebody  else's 
hands?" 

Hefferom  laughed  ironically.  "  We  '11  guarantee  you 
against  that,"  he  declared. 

"That 's  easy  to  say,"  Deane  objected,  "but  I  don't  see 
how.  Come,  I  will  be  perfectly  truthful.  I  have  n't  got 
that  deed.  If  it  should  be  still  in  existence,  and  be  used 
against  me  after  I  have  paid  you  this  sum  of  money,  I 
should  be  in  somewhat  an  unfortunate  position." 

"There  is  n't  the  slightest  fear  of  it,"  Hefferom  said. 
"Besides  —  " 


A  BOLD   MOVE  229 

"Besides  what?"  Deane  asked,  looking  up  from  his 
desk. 

"It  is  n't  as  though  the  deed  were  a  certainty,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  Of  course,  the  law  is  a  little  complicated.  There 
would  be  witnesses  on  both  sides,  and  the  case  might  go 
anyhow." 

"It  would  depend  a  little,  I  think,"  Deane  said  quietly, 
"on  which  side  you  gave  evidence  for.  I  think  you  could 
upset  that  deed  if  you  chose." 

"Perhaps  I  could,"  Hefferom  said  gruffly. 

"Will  you  do  it,"  Deane  asked,  "if  it  should  ever  be  set 
into  action  against  me?  Remember  that  even  though  I 
know  you  will  not  believe  me,  the  fact  remains  that  al- 
though I  have  defended  Rowan,  I  am  not  in  possession  of 
that  deed." 

Hefferom  leaned  across  from  his  chair.  "Listen, 
Deane,"  he  said.  "I  am  not  here  to  bluff  about  that 
wonderful  document.  Perhaps  it  is  n't  worth  the  paper 
it 's  written  on.  Anyhow,  here  's  my  word  for  it.  I  '11 
see  if  ever  an  action  is  brought  against  you  on  the 
strength  of  that  deed,  that  you  blow  it  all  sky  high  in  five 
minutes." 

"Is  the  deed  a  forgery?"  Deane  asked. 

Hefferom  did  not  answer. 

"Or  is  it  only  the  date?"  Deane  continued. 

Still  Hefferom  was  silent.    Then,  "There  is  no  neces- 


230  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

sity,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "of  putting  these  things  into 
plain  words.  You  have  only  to  find  the  money,  and  your 
anxieties  are  over." 

Deane  touched  a  bell  by  his  side.  "  Yours,  I  am  afraid," 
he  answered,  "are  only  just  beginning!" 

The  curtains  behind  were  suddenly  thrown  aside. 
A  tall,  spare-looking  man  stepped  out.  Deane  turned 
towards  him. 

"Inspector,"  he  said,  "I  give  this  man  in  charge  for  a 
barefaced  attempt  at  blackmailing  me.  You  have  heard 
all  that  has  been  said.  I  don't  think  that  there  is  anything 
for  me  to  add." 

He  rang  the  bell  by  his  side  a  second  time.  A  moment 
later  a  policeman  entered  from  the  outer  office.  Hefferom, 
who  had  sprung  to  his  feet,  was  glaring  at  them  both,  white 
with  passion. 

"So  this  is  your  game,  Deane!"  he  exclaimed.  "By 
the  Lord,  you  shall  pay  for  it !  You  to  dare  to  use  the  law 
against  me,  —  you,  who  sent  Rowan  like  a  paid  assassin 
to  murder  Sinclair!" 

"A  gross  calumny,"  Deane  answered  calmly.  "I  had 
no  interest  in  Sinclair's  life  or  death." 

"  It 's  a  d — d  lie ! "  cried  Hefferom.  "  If  you  are  going 
to  do  any  arresting,  inspector,  arrest  that  man  I "  he  cried, 
pointing  with  his  fat  white  forefinger  to  where  Deane  stood, 
debonair  and  well-dressed  as  usual,  and  with  a  little  bunch 


A   BOLD   MOVE  231 

of  violets  in  his  button-hole.  "  I  tell  you  that  he  paid  the 
man  Rowan  to  kill  Bully  Sinclair  in  the  Universal  Hotel. 
I  tell  you  I  can  prove  it.  I  can  prove  this  —  that  Sinclair 
left  South  Africa  six  months  ago,  with  the  deeds  of  the 
Little  Anna  Gold-Mine,  which  this  man  dared  to  sell  as 
being  his  own  at  close  upon  a  million  pounds  less  than  six 
months  ago.  I  can  tell  you  more !  —  ' 

They  led  him  from  the  room,  still  shouting.  At  the  door 
he  turned  back.  "  It 's  a  bold  game  this,  Deane,"  he 
cried,  "  but  by  heavens  I  '11  cry  quits  with  you  before 
long !  You  think  you  have  a  case  against  me.  I  am  only 
certain  of  one  thing,  and  that  is  that  you  have  driven  a 
nail  into  your  own  coffin.  If  I  could  only  get  at  you,  you 
—  you  blackguard ! " 

His  eyes  were  bloodshot.  He  strained  and  struggled  to 
free  himself  from  the  grasp  of  the  two  men. 

"I  'd  kill  you  where  you  stand!"  he  cried.  "Do  you 
think  that  I  can  be  muzzled?  Do  you  think  that  the 
truth  won't  come  to  light  ?  People  shall  know  it  even  if  I 
never  leave  off  telling  it  till  my  last  breath  comes." 

Deane  listened  to  him  with  immovable  face.  They  got 
him  outside  at  last.  He  heard  him  being  dragged  down 
the  corridor,  protesting  all  the  time.  Then  he  resumed 
his  seat.  "It 's  a  bold  game  to  play,"  he  said  to  himself 
thoughtfully,  "  and  yet,  if  they  really  have  n't  the  deed, 
there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done ! " 


CHAPTER  IX 

LORD    NUNNELEY    IS    FRANK 

"  T  ASKED  you  to  lunch  at  the  club,  Deane,"  said  Lord 

JL  Nunneley,  "because  I  thought  that  we  could  talk 
here  without  being  interrupted.  If  you  came  to  Caven- 
dish Square,  Olive  would  walk  you  right  away  from  the 
table,  and  if  I  asked  to  have  a  chat  with  you  alone,  there 
would  be  a  perfect  avalanche  of  questions  to  face." 

Deane  looked  up  a  little  curiously.  For  the  first  time 
he  realized  that  this  was  not  simply  a  casual  invitation. 
His  prospective  father-in-law  had  really  something  to  say 
to  him. 

"There  was  some  matter  which  you  wished  to  discuss, 
then?"  Deane  asked.  "I  need  scarcely  say  that  I  am 
quite  at  your  service." 

Lord  Nunneley  passed  his  cigarette-case  across  the  table. 
They  were  nearing  the  end  of  a  very  excellent  luncheon. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "there  were  a  few  things  I  wanted  to  say 
to  you.  You  see,  Deane,  the  city  is  no  longer  a  mythical 
place  to  us  idlers.  We  meet  people  whose  life  is  centred 
in  money-making,  every  day.  I  have  friends,  friends  be- 


"  There  was  some  matter  which  you  wished  to  discuss,  then  ?  " 
Deane  asked. 

Page  232. 


LORD   NUNNELEY   IS  FRANK  233 

side  yourself,  who  come  from  Lombard  Street,  and  one 
hears  things,  gossip,  I  mean,  and  stray  talk." 

Deane  seemed  suddenly  to  recede  into  himself.  His 
host  noticed  the  change,  and  blamed  himself  for  his  want 
of  tact.  Nevertheless,  as  he  had  begun,  so  he  went  on. 

"You  see,  Deane,"  he  continued,  "Olive  is  my  only 
daughter,  and  it  makes  one  more  than  ordinarily  cautious. 
This  blackmailing  case  of  yours  has  set  people  talking  a 
bit.  Of  course,  I  think  you  were  right.  It  was  a  brave 
and  sportsmanlike  thing  to  do.  The  man  is  committed 
for  trial,  and  I  only  hope  he  '11  get  penal  servitude.  All 
the  same,  there  are  a  lot  of  people,  you  know,  Deane,  who 
don't  take  quite  the  same  view  of  it." 

"Naturally,"  Deane  assented.  "One  can  scarcely  oc- 
cupy such  a  position  as  mine  without  having  enemies. 
There  are  wheels  within  wheels  in  the  financial  world, 
you  know,  Lord  Nunneley,  just  as  there  are  in  the  social 
world.  There  are  a  dozen  men  who  covet  my  post,  and 
as  many  hundreds  of  hangers-on  and  parasites  who  would 
be  glad  to  see  me  out  of  it." 

"Quite  so,"  returned  Lord  Nunneley.  "Of  course,  this 
man  Hefferom's  attitude  was  distinctly  belligerent,  and 
his  solicitors  evidently  knew  what  they  were  talking  about 
when  they  reserved  his  defence.  Tell  me,  when  Sinclair 
came  to  you  first  had  he  really  any  papers  at  all  which 
were  likely  to  cause  you  embarrassment?" 


234  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"He  had  an  original  claim  to  the  Little  Anna  Gold- 
Mine,"  Deane  admitted,  "  but  it  had  lapsed  before  I  took 
possession.  It  was  not  worth  the  paper  it  was  written  on." 

"Still,  he  had  got  that  document?"  Lord  Nunneley 
asked. 

"Without  a  doubt,"  Deane  answered. 

"You  have  no  idea,  I  suppose,  what  became  of  it?" 
Lord  Nunneley  asked. 

"Not  the  slightest,"  replied  Deane.  "I  only  know  that 
it  was  not  found  among  his  effects." 

"Would  it  have  been  of  any  interest  to  you  to  secure 
it?"  Lord  Nunneley  continued. 

"  I  would  have  given  a  few  hundred  —  perhaps  a  few 
thousand  —  pounds  for  it,"  Deane  answered,  "  partly 
as  a  curiosity,  partly  in  order  to  save  any  possible  trouble." 

"Of  course,"  Lord  Nunneley  said,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  and  sipping  his  coffee,  "the  world  is  full  of  people 
who  love  to  gossip,  and  you  cannot  gossip  unless  you 
invent  ill  about  someone.  Somehow  or  other,  it  never 
amuses  people  to  talk  good  of  their  friends;  conversation 
only  becomes  interesting  when  one  can  associate  evil  with 
them.  There  are  things  being  said  in  connection  with  this 
Hefferom  affair,  Deane,  which  are  not  altogether  pleasant." 

"Go  on,"  said  Deane. 

"For  instance,"  his  host  continued,  "I  was  told  last 
night  that  Hefferom's  tale  was  in  substance  true,  —  he 


LORD   NUNNELEY   IS   FRANK  235 

did  advance  this  man  Sinclair  money  to  come  to  England 
and  assert  his  right  to  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine.  Sin- 
clair was  murdered  with  this  deed  in  his  possession,  and  it 
is  freely  whispered  that  you  have  befriended  Rowan  —  his 
murderer.  The  paper  has  disappeared.  We  know  that. 
Still,  there  is  a  further  rumor  that  it  may  turn  up  at  his 
trial.  In  that  case,  would  n't  you  be  rather  badly  hit?" 

Deane  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "The  exact  facts  are 
these,"  he  said.  "Sinclair's  claim  to  the  Little  Anna  Gold- 
Mine  is  worth  very  little.  Nevertheless,  he  knew  that  any 
action  he  might  take  against  me  in  the  present  state  of  our 
money  market  here  would  be  somewhat  disastrous.  It 
would  upset  our  credit  and  bring  down  our  prices.  There- 
fore, his  idea,  without  a  doubt,  was  to  come  to  England 
and  make  a  bargain  with  me.  He  did  n't  expect  the  mine. 
What  he  wanted  was  blood  money.  He  came,  and,  per- 
haps unwisely,  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him. 
Rowan  was  known  to  both  of  us  out  there.  He  came  to 
see  me  a  few  days  afterwards,  and  I  commissioned  him  to 
buy  this  deed,  if  he  could.  He  went  to  look  for  Sinclair, 
they  drank  together,  an  old  quarrel  was  revived,  and 
they  fought.  The  end  of  that  you  know.  Where  the  doc- 
ument has  gone  to,  I  can't  imagine,  but  I  can  assure  you 
that  it  was  never  meant  to  be  the  basis  of  a  serious  claim, 
merely  the  foundation  stone  of  a  perfect  system  of  black- 
mailing. If  I  had  listened  for  five  minutes  to  Hefferom  I 


236  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

should  have  been  in  his  power  all  my  life.  I  should  have 
lost  my  self-respect.  Very  soon  I  should  have  lost  my 
nerve.  I  could  n't  do  it.  I  preferred  to  face  him  in  a 
court  of  justice.  He  came  to  blackmail  me,  and  he  de- 
served to  be  punished.  If  he  can  prove  that  it  is  I  who 
am  the  ill-doer,  I  will  take  my  punishment.  I  can  say  no 
more." 

"You  talk,"  Lord  Nunneley  said,  looking  at  him 
kindly,  "as  I  would  have  my  own  son  talk.  And  yet, 
Deane,  this  whole  affair  is  distressing  to  me.  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  it  has  upset  all  the  pleasure  with  which  I 
consented  to  your  engagement.  I  cannot  bear  that  any- 
one associated  with  Olive  should  ever  find  himself  in  such 
a  position.  This  case,  of  course,  may  go  all  in  your  favor, 
or  it  may  not.  If  it  does  not,  well,  you  know  very  well 
that  it  would  be  the  beginning  of  very  unpleasant  things." 

"Does  Olive  know  of  this  little  luncheon  party  of 
ours,  Lord  Nunneley?"  Deane  asked. 

"She  does  not,"  Lord  Nunneley  asserted.  "Olive  is, 
above  all  things,  staunch.  She  is,  I  believe,  too,  sin- 
cerely attached  to  you.  I  am  speaking  entirely  for  myself. 
I  am  speaking,  too,  as  the  father  of  an  only  daughter, 
whose  engagement  to  you  was,  after  all,  a  little  experi- 
mental. I  should  like  to  see  my  daughter  released  from 
that  engagement,  Deane." 

Deane  smoked  steadily  for  several  minutes.     Finally, 


LORD   NUNNELEY   IS  FRANK  237 

"This  is  a  little  hard  on  me,  isn't  it,  sir?  I  have  only 
done  what  you  yourself  would  have  done  —  refused  to 
have  underhand  dealings  with  men  who  made  dishon- 
orable propositions  to  me." 

"It  is  hard  on  you,  Deane,"  Lord  Nunneley  declared. 
"It  is  very  hard  indeed.  But  remember,  I  never  wanted 
Olive  to  marry  anyone  in  the  city.  I  know  you,  and  I 
like  you.  If  you  came  to  me  with  your  hands  clean  and 
plenty  of  money,  I  should  not  hesitate  for  a  second,  for 
I  believe  that  Olive  likes  you.  But  I  hate  scandal,  I 
hate  gossip,  I  hate  notoriety !  This  blackmailing  case  of 
yours  is  going  to  result  in  all  three.  I  'd  like  to  go  home 
and  lay  the  case  before  Olive,  and  have  your  permission 
to  say  that  if  it  seems  good  to  her  mother  and  myself, 
the  engagement  between  you  two  is  broken." 

Deane  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  so  little  time  to  give  to  thoughts  outside  the 
immediate  trend  of  the  day's  work.  It  was  proposed  that 
his  engagement  with  Olive  should  be  broken.  What 
did  it  mean  to  him,  this  engagement?  How  far  into  his 
life  had  she  come  ?  What  place  did  she  hold  in  his  heart  ? 
His  thoughts  travelled  backwards.  He  remembered  his 
almost  meteor-like  accession  to  wealth  and  influence. 
He  remembered  how  all  doors  had  flown  open  to  him. 
He  remembered  and  realized  exactly  where  he  stood.  He 
thought  of  Lady  Olive.  He  remembered  the  first  day 


238  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

when  he  had  decided  that  she  was  the  woman  who  would 
look  well  at  the  head  of  his  table,  who  would  be  a  pleas- 
ant companion  for  him,  and  would  insure  his  having 
friends,  when  he  gave  up  his  struggling,  amongst  the 
class  of  people  with  whom  he  desired  to  associate.  It 
was  in  that  way  that  he  had  looked  at  it  from  the  first. 
Was  it  the  same  now?  He  had  touched  her  hands.  He 
had  even  kissed  her  lips.  She  had  come  into  his  arms  and 
allowed  him  to  embrace  her,  without  any  obvious  reluc- 
tance. Only  a  few  weeks  ago  she  had  kissed  him  volun- 
tarily, absolutely  of  her  own  will.  During  their  fortnight 
in  Scotland  she  had  shown  herself  more  feminine  than  he 
had  ever  believed  her.  She  had  insisted  upon  taking  him 
for  walks  by  herself.  She  had  taken  his  arm,  encouraged 
him  to  make  love  to  her,  had  deserted  the  bridge  table  in 
the  evenings  to  sit  in  dark  corners  with  him,  had  allowed 
him  to  hold  her  hand,  even  to  snatch  a  few  kisses.  If 
she  did  not  care  for  him,  at  least  she  was  very  near  it. 
And  as  for  him,  —  he  was  fond  of  her,  without  a  doubt. 
Somewhere  in  the  background  of  his  apprehension  there 
was  some  shadowy  idea  of  a  greater  thing  than  this,  a 
love  more  thrilling,  more  passionate,  more  mysterious,  — 
music  in  the  veins,  which  no  Lady  Olive  in  the  world  had 
ever  created.  But  there  was  about  these  thoughts  some- 
thing absolutely  unreal,  fantastic.  They  had  never  taken 
to  themselves  shape,  never  become  associated  with  any 


LORD   NUNNELEY  IS   FRANK  239 

human  being.  They  were  nothing  to  trust  to,  he  told 
himself,  —  nothing.  He  looked  out  of  the  rain-swept 
window  of  the  club.  Curiously  enough,  he  had  a  sudden 
vision  of  Winifred  Rowan's  quiet,  set  face.  The  memory 
of  one  passionate  moment  seemed  suddenly  to  creep 
along  his  heartstrings  like  the  wind  over  the  strings  of  a 
harp.  Such  folly,  he  thought,  frowning!  Such  absolute 
folly! 

" Lord  Nunneley,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  am  only  anxious  to 
do  what  Lady  Olive  wishes.  If  you  will  go  home  and  tell 
her  exactly  what  you  have  told  me,  I  should  like  you  to 
add  that  it  is  only  her  happiness  that  I  wish,  and  that  if 
she  desires  to  release  me,  I  shall  accept  her  decision  with- 
out a  murmur." 

Lord  Nunneley  played  with  his  coffee-spoon  nervously. 
"  I  knew  you  'd  say  something  like  that,  Deane,"  he  said. 
"  Of  course,  it  will  not  be  easy.  I  believe  that  my  daughter 
is  really  fond  of  you,  and  our  influence  over  her,  both  her 
mother's  and  mine,  is  somewhat  limited.  You  would  n't 
feel  inclined,  I  suppose,  to  come  over  to  our  side,  to  realize 
that  under  the  circumstances  an  alliance  between  you  and 
her  could  scarcely  be  a  satisfactory  thing,  —  in  short,  to 
encourage  her  to  bring  it  to  an  end  ? " 

"In  other  words,"  Deane  said,  "you  propose  that  in- 
stead of  suffering  myself  to  be  jilted  by  Lady  Olive,  I 
should  offer  myself  as  a  victim  ?  " 


240  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

"  It 's  asking  a  good  deal,  I  know/'  Lord  Nunneley 
said,  "and,  of  course,  it  all  depends  upon  how  you  feel 
about  it.  But  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  can't  help  thinking  — 
you  must  realize  a  little  that  this  blackmailing  case,  even 
if  it  turns  out  well,  is  bound  to  put  a  different  complexion 
upon  things." 

"You  must  convince  Lady  Olive  of  that,"  Deane  said. 
"  I  am  ready  to  accept  my  dismissal,  but  you  must  forgive 
me  if  I  decline  to  do  anything  to  facilitate  it.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  shall  insist  upon  seeing  Lady  Olive  before  she 
absolutely  decides.  I  shall  not  plead  with  her  —  you  need 
not  be  afraid  of  that  —  but  I  shall  want  to  be  quite  sure 
that  there  has  been  no  misunderstanding  of  any  sort." 

"There  is  no  time  like  the  present,"  Lord  Nunneley 
said.  "Drive  home  with  me,  and  we  will  interview  my 
daughter  at  once." 

She  heard  all  that  her  father  had  to  say,  listened  to 
him  gravely  and  attentively.  Then  she  turned  to  Deane. 
"  And  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  What  do  you  say  to  it  all  ?  " 

"My  dear  Olive,"  said  Deane,  "it  amounts  to  this.  I 
am  to  be  the  hero  or  victim,  as  the  case  may  be,  of  a  cause 
celebre.  I  cannot  come  out  of  it  with  any  considerable 
credit;  I  may  come  out  to  find  myself  under  very  grave 
suspicion.  I  admit  that  appearances  are  against  me. 
There  will  even  be  people  who  will  whisper  that  I  sent 


LORD   NUNNELEY  IS   FRANK  241 

Rowan  from  my  office  as  an  assassin  to  Sinclair,  and  that 
the  deed  he  brought  with  him  from  South  Africa  is  in  my 
safe,  or  at  the  back  of  my  fire.  No  one  has  ever  been  free 
from  calumny.  I  certainly  am  going  to  have  my  share  of  it. 
It  may  —  it  very  likely  will  —  lessen  my  prestige.  You 
will  find  some  of  your  friends  who  will  talk  of  the  '  Deane 
Blackmailing  Affair/  and  who  will  never  be  quite  sure 
whether  I  was  prosecutor  or  defendant.  You  will  find 
all  your  life  my  name  looked  upon  with  a  certain  amount 
of  suspicion,  because,  in  a  case  of  this  sort,  prosecutor  and 
defendant,  and  even  the  witnesses,  are  all  classed  together 
by  that  somewhat  vague  portion  of  the  public  which  your 
friends  represent.  I  admit  all  this.  I  also  admit  that  it 
would  be  an  act  of  perfect  justice  if  you  should  tell  me  to 
kiss  your  hands  and  go." 

She  pointed  to  the  door.  "Father,"  she  said,  "will 
you  leave  us  for  a  moment?  There  is  something  which  I 
have  to  say  to  Stirling." 


CHAPTER  X 

A  BROKEN  ENGAGEMENT 

EVEN  after  the  door  had  closed  upon  Lord  Nunneley, 
and  Deane  was  alone  with  his  fiancee,  words  did 
not  seem  to  come  easily  to  either  of  them.  Lady  Olive 
was  sitting  back  in  the  corner  of  a  low  couch.  Deane  was 
standing  upon  the  hearthrug,  his  hands  behind  him,  his 
face  a  little  wrinkled  with  perplexity. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "you  would  like  me, 
Olive,  to  explain  exactly  how  this  claim  came  about?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  answered,  "I  do  not  wish  you 
to  do  anything  of  the  sort." 

He  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise.  Her  voice  had  pre- 
pared him  for  a  change -of  some  sort,  but  he  was  never- 
theless puzzled.  There  was  a  slight  flush  of  color  in  her 
cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  softer  than  usual. 

"Stirling,"  she  said,  "come  and  sit  down  here  by  my 
side." 

He  obeyed  at  once.     She  turned  and  faced  him. 

"I  am  puzzled,  Stirling,"  she  said.  "I  want  to  ask  you 
a  question.  You  have  been  lunching  with  my  father?" 


A  BROKEN  ENGAGEMENT  243 

"Yes!"  Deane  answered.     "At  his  club." 

"I  know  that  he  feels  very  strongly  about  this  matter," 
she  said.  "Tell  me,  did  the  suggestion  that  our  engage- 
ment should  be  broken  off  come  from  him?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  you?"  she  said.  "Tell  me  exactly  what  you 
felt,  what  it  meant  to  you?  I  don't  want  you  to  fence 
with  words,  please,"  she  went  on.  "Tell  me  this  hon- 
estly. Was  it  anything  of  a  relief  to  you?" 

"Assuredly  not,"  he  answered  wonderingly. 

"Think  again,"  she  begged.  "You  answer  quickly, 
but  is  that  because  you  are  very,  very  sure,  or  because  you 
are  taking  it  for  granted?  You  see  you  are  one  of  those 
men,  Stirling,"  she  went  on  earnestly,  "whose  disposition 
does  not  allow  them  to  look  back.  We  are  engaged,  I 
was  your  deliberate  choice,  and  after  that,  so  far  as  you 
are  concerned,  the  matter  was  ended.  The  possibility 
that  you  had  made  a  mistake  would  never  occur  to  you, 
simply  because  you  would  regard  the  matter  as  inevitable. 
Tell  me,  if  it  were  not  inevitable,  if  you  were  not  engaged 
to  me  at  this  moment,  Stirling,  would  you  ask  me  again?5' 

Her  words  amazed  him.  He  had  never  given  her 
credit  for  such  insight,  such  perceptions.  It  seemed,  in- 
deed, as  though  she  had  realized  something  of  which  he 
himself  was  not  yet  conscious,  and  yet  something  which 
might  very  well  exist. 


244  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"How  long  have  you  had  this  idea,  Olive?"  he  asked 
gravely. 

"All  the  time,"  she  answered.  "At  first,  of  course,  it 
seemed  all  right,  but  up  in  Scotland,  and  since  then,  I 
have  wondered  whether  you  have  not  looked  upon  me  as 
something  quite  outside  your  life,  —  a  necessary  and  de- 
sirable adjunct,  perhaps,  to  your  household  and  growing 
prosperity.  Don't  think  that  I  am  complaining,"  she 
continued,  "but  in  all  our  recent  communications  the 
personal  note  has  not  been  very  strongly  marked,  has  it? 
I  can  see  exactly,  too,  how  my  father's  suggestion  has 
moved  you.  You  don't  feel,  do  you,  as  though  the  sun 
had  ceased  to  shine,  or  the  world  to  move,  because  there 
is  a  chance  that  you  may  lose  me?" 

Deane  was  not  often  so  doubtful  of  himself.  In  a  sense 
he  knew  that  she  was  right.  And  yet,  her  very  apprehen- 
sion of  these  things,  the  new  earnestness  with  which  she 
was  looking  at  him,  the  thought  that  he  was  very  near 
indeed  to  losing  her,  seemed  to  stimulate  his  interest,  — 
made  him  feel,  indeed,  that  it  would  not  be  a  light  thing 
to  give  her  up. 

"Olive,"  he  said,  "I  wish  I  could  make  you  know 
exactly  how  I  feel.  If  I  have  been  a  little  slow  and  reticent 
of  speech,  believe  me,  it  is  not  that  I  have  not  cared.  On 
the  other  hand,  there  is  some  truth  in  what  you  have 
said  —  I  mean  that  I  do  honestly  believe  that  I  have  taken 


A  BROKEN  ENGAGEMENT  245 

things  a  little  too  much  for  granted,  that  knowing  there 
was  no  other  woman  in  my  life,  knowing  how  desirable 
you  were,  and  how  really  fond  of  you  I  was,  I  think  I  was 
content  to  let  the  rest  come,  as  I  certainly  did  feel  that  it 
would  come." 

"I  think  I  understand,"  she  said  slowly.  "Now  tell 
me  exactly  what  you  think  of  my  father's  request?" 

"I  think  that  it  is  reasonable,"  Deane  answered.  "It 
is  more  reasonable,  even,  than  your  father  knows  of.  I 
think  that  I  have  been  a  little  too  successful,  perhaps, 
during  these  later  years  of  my  life.  I  have  grown  to  un- 
derestimate the  possibilities  of  trouble." 

"This  is  really  serious,  then?" 

He  nodded.  "  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  been 
a  little  over-bold.  I  ought  to  have  kicked  that  man 
Hefferom  out  of  my  office  half-a-dozen  times,  until  he 
came  to  reason,  and  then  bought  him  off  for  good  for  a 
thousand  pounds.  But  you  see  I  did  n't.  All  my  life  I 
have  hated  compromises.  I  knew  that  he  was  a  black- 
guard, and  I  dealt  with  him  as  a  blackguard,  and  I  have 
left  him  with  the  cards  in  his  hands." 

"Then  I  suppose  my  father  was  right,"  she  said,  sighing. 

"I  suppose  he  was,"  Deane  answered. 

She  held  out  her  hand.  "Very  well,  Stirling,"  she  said, 
"let  it  be  so.  Our  engagement  is  broken,  and  I  will  see 
that  the  proper  steps  are  taken  to  announce  it.  But  I  want 


246  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

you  to  understand  this  from  me,  that  if  you  had  cared, 
if  I  could  have  seen  any  signs  whatever  of  your  caring, 
no  word  of  my  father's,  nor  anything  that  could  have 
happened  to  you  in  the  city  or  elsewhere,  any  disgrace 
or  any  loss  of  money,  could  have  separated  us." 

He  took  a  step  towards  her.    "  Olive ! "   he  exclaimed. 

"No!"   she  said,  a  little  sharply,  and  rang  the  bell. 

He  turned  and  walked  out.  In  the  hall  he  passed  Lord 
Nunneley.  "We  have  arranged  it  according  to  your  wish, 
sir,"  he  said,  "your  daughter  and  I." 

Lord  Nunneley  looked  at  him  curiously.  Deane  had 
the  look  of  a  man  who  has  been  hard  hit. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Deane.  I  hope  you  understand  there  's 
nothing  personal  in  it." 

"I  understand!"  said  Deane,  briefly. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BITTER    WORDS 

FROM  the  pit  of  the  world  —  from  the  Law  Courts, 
hot  and  crowded,  where  the  atmosphere  was  heavy 
with  strife,  —  the  modern  battleground,  where  the  fight- 
ing was  at  least  as  dramatic  over  the  souls  of  men  as 
on  those  other  fields,  reddened  with  their  blood,  Deane 
escaped  to  find  himself,  after  a  few  hours'  journey,  in  this 
strangest  of  churchyards  upon  the  bare  hillside.  The 
church  itself,  squat,  square-towered,  and  tumbling  into 
decay,  stood  out  like  a  watch-tower  upon  the  cliff.  The 
churchyard,  bordered  by  low  gray  stone  walls,  seemed 
to  contain  little  more  than  a  dozen  or  so  of  graves,  and 
from  one  of  these  Deane  turned  away,  and  with  Winifred 
by  his  side  commenced  the  long  descent  to  the  level  of 
the  sea.  The  half-a-dozen  who  had  attended  the  cere- 
mony out  of  curiosity  had  already  melted  away.  The 
parson,  with  his  book  under  his  arm,  had  gone  into  the 
vestry,  but  neither  custom  nor  age  had  failed  to  rob  those 
few  sentences  of  their  wonderful,  threatening  pathos. 
Even  Deane  was  a  little  moved.  The  girl  who  walked 


248  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

by  his  side  carried  still  with  her  that  impenetrable  mask, 
but  there  was  something  more  like  real  sadness  in  the 
steady  gaze  of  her  unseeing  eyes. 

The  air  was  filled  with  sunshine,  the  singing  of  larks, 
and  the  calling  of  the  white-winged  seagulls  wheeling 
about  their  heads.  Below,  the  sea  had  receded  to  its 
furthest  limits.  The  creeks  were  dry.  The  shore  was 
piled  with  masses  of  fragrant  seaweed.  The  grass-grown 
dykes  which  led  down  to  the  tower  stood  high  and  dry, 
like  ribbons  across  the  land.  Little  sandy  spits  were 
visible,  far  out  from  the  shore,  and  only  the  white-topped 
posts  marked  the  way  of  the  tidal  river  out  beyond  the 
island  of  seagulls  and  sand. 

Deane,  after  his  anxious  days  and  his  tearing  ride 
from  town  in  the  great  motor,  felt  the  peace  of  all  these 
things,  showed  it  in  his  face,  felt  it  in  his  heart.  The 
last  few  days  had  taught  him  a  good  deal.  Never  had  he 
been  so  weary  of  his  place  in  the  great  world  as  he  was 
that  afternoon.  Even  that  little  ceremony  in  the  wind- 
swept churchyard,  the  coffin  lowered  into  the  grave,  the 
heaping  of  earth,  the  simple  words  spoken  by  the  bare- 
headed vicar,  —  even  that  little  ceremony  had  left  its  im- 
pression. After  all,  how  small  the  difference  between 
Death  and  Life,  —  ignominy  and  greatness !  His  own 
reputation  had  many  times  during  the  last  few  days 
trembled  in  the  balance.  What  was  the  value  of  that, 


BITTER  WORDS  249 

even,  —  of  all  his  wealth,  —  compared  to  the  great  prime- 
val facts  of  life? 

His  thoughts  suddenly  turned  to  the  girl  by  his  side. 
He  looked  at  her  pityingly,  —  looked  at  her,  too,  with 
curiosity.  She  had  accepted  his  coming  almost  as  a 
matter  of  course.  All  the  time,  though  he  had  known 
well  that  she  was  suffering,  she  had  been  wordless,  as 
though  her  grief  were  something  so  great  that  no  out- 
ward sign  of  it  could  be  anything  else  but  pitifully  inade- 
quate. In  her  quiet,  graceful  walk,  the  very  reserve,  the 
negativeness,  so  to  speak,  of  her  coloring,  her  speech, 
her  looks,  she  still  represented  to  him  an  insoluble  enigma. 
Was  it  possible,  now  that  her  brother  had  gone,  that  she 
would  speak?  In  any  case,  the  silence  between  them 
could  not  continue  much  longer,  for  already  they  were 
down  on  the  marshes,  and,  as  though  by  common  consent, 
had  turned  seaward,  towards  where  the  lonely  gray  tower 
stood  out  on  its  little  sandy  eminence. 

"Tell  me,  Miss  Rowan,"  he  said,  "what  are  your 
plans  now?" 

"  My  plans  ? "  she  repeated,  without  turning  her 
head. 

"Yes!"  he  went  on.  "I  know  that  your  brother's 
death  is  a  blow  to  you,  but  remember  that  it  was  inevi- 
table. It  was  a  thing  which  was  bound  to  come,  and  in 
many  ways  it  was  kinder  and  better  that  it  should  happen 


250  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

like  this.  You  could  not  have  chosen  for  him  a  more 
peaceful  ending,  a  more  peaceful  resting-place.  For  any- 
one with  even  the  faintest  beliefs  in  the  future  life  could 
anything  be  more  beautiful  than  to  rest  there,  with  the 
eternal  lullaby  of  the  sea  in  his  ears,  free  from  encroach- 
ment, save  the  encroachment  of  nature  herself?" 

She  turned  to  look  at  him,  and  the  calm  scrutiny  of  her 
level  gray  eyes  somehow  disturbed  him.  "It  is  easy  for 
you  to  talk  like  that,"  she  said.  "You  are  still  young  and 
strong,  and  if  the  pendulum  of  fate  swings  against  you 
one  day,  it  pays  you  back  the  next.  You  are  selfish  be- 
cause you  cannot  help  it.  You  cannot  even  realize  the 
hideousness  of  death!  You  cannot  realize  it  because  it 
comes  to  other  people,  and  not  to  you ! " 

"You  are  a  little  unfair,  Miss  Rowan,"  Deane  an- 
swered. "You  must  remember  that  your  brother  was  a 
doomed  man." 

"Yes,  but  why?"  she  cried.  "He  was  younger  than 
you.  There  were  no  worse  things  in  his  life.  Always  he 
was  battling  with  failure  and  disappointment.  And  this  is 
the  end,  —  to  sit  opposite  a  doctor,  and  be  told  you  may 
live  a  month,  three  months,  a  measure  of  time.  Oh !  it 's 
easy  to  think  about  it  for  other  people !  Think  of  yourself 
going  about  with  the  knowledge  in  your  heart  that  as  the 
days  passed  one  by  one  they  brought  you  nearer  to  the 
end,  that  every  morning  when  your  eyes  opened,  instead 


BITTER  WORDS  251 

of  the  joy  of  life  would  come  once  more  that  terrible 
fear." 

"Your  brother  was  not  a  coward,  Miss  Rowan,"  Deane 
said. 

"  A  coward !  You  mean  that  he  did  not  show  his  suffer- 
ings!" she  exclaimed.  "That  does  not  mean  that  he  did 
not  suffer.  Oh!  I  have  heard  him  in  the  night  when  he 
thought  that  he  was  alone,  I  have  heard  his  agony.  And 
that  is  the  end!" 

She  turned  and  faced  the  little  stone  church  on  the  hill, 
the  rudely  enclosed  churchyard,  in  the  far  corner  of  which 
was  still  visible  the  bare  heap  of  mould. 

"He  felt  it  coming,  he  felt  the  strength  pass  from  him 
day  by  day,  —  he,  who  had  never  known  what  it  was  to 
live,  who  had  never  known  the  days  of  riches  or  success 
or  power.  There  he  lies,  —  God  knows  for  what  purpose, 
to  what  end!" 

Deane  walked  for  a  little  way  in  silence.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  the  girl's  bitterness  was  scarcely  reasonable.  Yet 
he  realized  that  at  such  a  time  reason  loses  its  power. 

"His  last  days,  at  least,  were  as  comfortable  as  possible." 

"Comfortable!"  she  exclaimed  scornfully.  "He  lived 
in  hell!" 

"You  are  not  blaming  me,  by  any  chance?"  Deane 
asked  quietly. 

She  turned  upon  him,  and  the  mask  seemed  suddenly 


252  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

raised.  There  blazed  into  her  eyes  a  great  fire.  There 
trembled  in  the  notes  of  her  voice  a  wonderful  passion. 
Her  form  seemed  to  dilate.  They  were  walking  now  upon 
the  top  of  the  dyke,  and  she  seemed  to  have  been  suddenly 
transformed  into  something  vengeful,  some  grim  represen- 
tation of  Fate. 

"Blame  you!"  she  cried.  "I  tell  you  that  I  hate  all 
you  smug,  successful,  phrase-making  men,  who  succeeded 
where  he  failed.  What  are  you  that  he  was  not  ?  He  was 
brave,  he  worked  hard,  he  was  honest,  courageous,  he  was 
all  that  a  man  should  be.  If  you  were  ever  these  things^ 
you  at  least  were  not  more,  and  to  you  comes  wealth  and 
easy  days,  honor,  a  long,  peaceful  future.  London  —  the 
world  —  is  full  of  you,  grubbing  your  way  through  life, 
thinking  what  magnificent  creatures  you  are,  opening  your 
pockets  to  help  with  your  alms  those  who  have  fallen,  those 
who,  if  there  was  justice  upon  the  earth,  should  be  in  your 
places ! " 

"This  is  unreasonable,"  Deane  declared  coldly. 

"Unreasonable!  Who  said  it  was  anything  else?"  she 
cried.  "What  reason  is  there  in  life,  in  death,  in  success 
or  failure?  Can  you  tell  me  the  laws  by  which  life  is 
ruled,  can  you  find  them  anywhere,  at  the  base  of  any 
man's  success  or  another's  failure?  Reasonable,  indeed! 
One  man  swims  and  another  drowns.  Who  can  tell 
why  ?  One  man  grows  rich,  another  starves,  and  as  often 


BITTER  WORDS  253 

as  not  it  is  the  clever  man  who  starves  and  the  fool  who 
grows  rich.  There  is  no  reason  in  those  things.  There  is 
no  reason  in  my  hate  for  you  and  all  those  who  have  lived 
easy  lives,  and  who  go  on  living  them  while  he  —  lies 
there!" 

She  turned  back  once  more  and  pointed  with  out- 
stretched hand  towards  the  little  church.  The  wind  blew 
her  skirts  about  her,  —  disturbed  for  once  the  trim,  un- 
compromising arrangement  of  her  hair.  The  color  had 
come  into  her  cheeks  at  last.  Deane  wondered  why  he 
had  never  before  thought  her  beautiful! 

"I  am  sorry  you  are  feeling  like  this,"  he  said.  "I  did 
what  I  could  for  your  brother." 

"Be  silent!"  she  interrupted  fiercely.  "You  did  what 
you  could !  To  insure  your  own  safety  you  sent  him  on  a 
desperate,  unworthy  mission  —  to  worm  iiis  way  into  the 
confidence  of  a  drunkard,  to  steal  for  you,  to  be  your  jackal. 
What  did  you  care  what  the  consequences  might  be! 
What  did  you  care,  so  long  as  your  own  reputation  and 
wealth  were  saved !  He  was  to  be  one  other  —  my  poor 
Basil  —  one  other  of  those  to  be  crushed  beneath  the 
great  wheels!" 

"It  is  not  fair,"  replied  Deane,  "to  make  such  state- 
ments. Your  brother  knew  his  risks,  and  he  took  them." 

"Knew  his  risks !"  she  repeated.  "You  mean  that  be- 
cause you  were  on  your  feet  when  he  was  on  the  ground, 


254  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

you  would  make  use  of  him  like  any  other  lump  of  mud 
you  would  spurn  with  your  foot  if  you  had  not  found  a 
use  for  it.  He  did  your  bidding,  poor  fool,  but  where  he 
failed,  I  succeeded.  You  have  to  deal  with  me  now,  and 
I  think  that  it  is  my  turn  to  make  terms ! " 

Deane  looked  at  her  curiously.  "At  last,"  he  said, 
"you  are  going  to  admit  your  possession  of  that  little 
document?" 

"At  last,"  she  admitted,  "I  am  going  to  tell  you  that  I 
have  it!" 

"And  to  name  your  price?"  he  asked. 

There  was  a  queer  little  sound  in  her  throat,  like  an 
unnatural  laugh.  "My  price!  Yes,  that  is  another 
matter ! " 


CHAPTER  XII 

A    STRANGE    BETROTHAL 

SOUTHWARD,  through  the  country  lanes  whose 
hedges  were  still  wreathed  with  late  honeysuckle, 
on  to  the  great  mainroad,  Deane's  car  was  driven  through 
the  night,  —  always  southward,  till  the  lights  of  the  great 
city  flared  before  them  up  into  the  sky.  Deane  himself, 
for  hour  after  hour,  had  sat  back  in  his  corner,  buried  in 
thought.  His  companion  was  even  more  invisible,  but  as 
the  end  of  the  journey  drew  near  he  roused  himself  with 
an  effort,  turned  on  the  electric  light  which  hung  down 
from  the  roof  of  the  car,  lit  a  cigarette,  and,  bending  for- 
ward, looked  into  the  half-hidden  face  of  the  girl  who  was 
reclining  by  his  side. 

"My  dear  fiancee,"  he  said,  "we  are  nearing  London. 
Won't  you  rouse  yourself  and  give  me  your  further  orders  ?" 

She  sat  up,  with  a  little  yawn.  "  Let  down  the  windows, 
please,"  she  said.  "We  will  have  some  fresh  air  in  for  a 
few  minutes." 

He  obeyed  her  at  once.  The  sweet  midnight  air  through 
which  they  were  rushing  was  like  a  douche  of  cold  water 
upon  her  face. 


256  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"How  far  are  we  from  London?"  she  asked. 

"Less  than  twenty  miles.  Unless  we  are  stopped,  we 
shall  certainly  be  there  in  half-an-hour." 

"Why  did  you  disturb  me?"  she  asked. 

"To  know  your  wishes." 

"You  had  better  leave  me  at  one  of  the  small  hotels  in 
the  west  end,"  she  said.  "I  daresay  you  can  think  of  one 
at  which  you  are  known.  In  the  morning,  please  come  and 
see  me  and  bring  some  money.  I  shall  want  to  engage  a 
companion  and  a  maid,  and  to  buy  some  clothes." 

Deane  looked  at  her  curiously.  Her  manner  was  per- 
fectly natural.  "Anything  else?"  he  asked  calmly. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  she  answered. 

"You  mentioned  the  fact,  I  believe,"  he  continued, 
"  that  you  were  —  that  you  had  done  me  the  honor  — 
that  you  were,  in  fact,  my  fiance'e." 

"Well?"  she  murmured. 

"Under  those  circumstances,"  he  continued,  "don't  you 
think  —  " 

His  hand  rested  for  a  moment  upon  hers.  She  drew  it 
at  once  away.  "No,  I  think  not!"  she  answered. 

"I  have  not  had  much  experience,"  he  went  on,  "in 
being  engaged,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  were  cer- 
tain privileges  which  belonged  to  that  state." 

"You  are  perfectly  well  aware,"  she  answered,  "that 
ours  is  not  an  engagement  of  that  sort.  You  know  some- 


A   STRANGE   BETROTHAL  257 

thing  about  the  world  in  which  the  men  marry  for  position 
and  the  women  for  money,  don't  you?  You  can  look 
upon  our  engagement  as  being  of  that  order.  I  marry  you 
because  it  is  the  only  way  I  can  make  you  pay  your  debt. 
I  have  given  you  notice  from  the  first.  I  mean  to  gain 
everything  I  can,  and  to  give  nothing." 

"Nothing?"  he  repeated. 

"As  little  as  possible,"  she  answered.  "As  a  matter  of 
fact,  you  are  singularly  indifferent  to  me.  You  simply 
represent  the  things  I  desire,  the  things  which  are  owing 
to  me,  the  things  which  were  owing  to  —  to  him.  I  marry 
you  to  acquire  them.  You  marry  me  because  you  must." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "ours  promises  to  be  a  novel  matri- 
monial experience." 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered. 

"You  have  been  reading  too  many  novels,"  he  declared. 
"People  really  don't  marry  in  this  sort  of  way  at  all. 
There  is  always  a  pretence  of  sentiment  about  it.  If  not, 
for  very  shame's  sake,  they  try  to  cultivate  it." 

"Then  we,"  she  answered,  "will  remain  exceptions." 

"Do  you  dislike  me?"  he  asked. 

"Personally  I  have  not  thought  about  you,"  she  an- 
swered. "Apart  from  that,  I  hate  you.  You  represent 
the  victor,  and  all  that  I  have  loved  upon  this  earth  have 
been  the  vanquished.  Willingly  I  would  not  give  you  so 
much  as  the  touch  of  my  fingers.  If  I  thought  that  my 


258  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

presence  was  a  pleasure  to  you,  I  would  shrink  back  into 
myself.  If  I  thought  that  any  happiness  could  come  to 
you  from  our  association,  even  now  I  would  throw  myself 
from  the  car  and  end  it." 

"Our  prospects  of  matrimonial  bliss,"  he  remarked, 
"appear  to  me  to  be  distinctly  above  the  average." 

"I  do  not  expect,"  she  answered,  "to  find  any  pleasure 
that  may  come  to  me  in  later  life,  at  your  hands." 

"I  shall  certainly  not  allow  you  to  flirt." 

"I  know  the  law,"  she  answered.  "I  know  what  I  may 
do  and  what  I  may  not  do.  I  shall  not  transgress  it.  I 
want  your  money,  I  want  your  position,  I  want  your 
power.  These  things  I  will  share  with  you.  For  the  rest, 
you  cannot  keep  too  far  away  to  please  me." 

He  leaned  towards  her,  heedless  of  the  fact  that  she  was 
shrinking  away.  There  was  something  a  little  pitiful  in 
the  blue-gray  eyes  which  tried  so  hard  to  hold  him  at  a 
distance.  "Well,"  said  he,  "it  will  be  an  interesting  ex- 
periment, at  any  rate.  Personally,  I  think  that  you  are  a 
brave  woman.  I  wonder  that  you  did  not  take  the  money 
without  me." 

"What  good  would  that  have  been  to  me?"  she  an- 
swered. "I  have  no  name,  no  friends.  Can't  you  imagine 
the  sort  of  people  who  would  have  come  hanging  on  to  my 
skirts,  if  I  had  made  my  debut  on  the  scene  as  a  widow 
or  a  spinster  with  a  large  fortune,  unattached,  looking 


A  STRANGE   BETROTHAL  259 

for  companions  ?  No !  I  need  your  name,  Mr.  Stirling 
Deane." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure,"  he  answered  grimly,  "  that  you 
will  find  that  much  of  an  asset." 

"You  must  see  to  it  that  I  do  find  it  an  asset,  and  a  val- 
uable one,"  she  answered.  "You  are  relieved  now  from 
any  fear  of  that  deed  being  produced.  There  is  no  shadow 
of  evidence  to  connect  you  with  the  man  Sinclair,  or  with 
my  brother's  transaction  with  him.  If  your  lawyers  are 
clever  and  you  are  brave,  you  must  win  your  case  with 
honor,  and  Hefferom  will  be  sent  to  prison.  He  deserves 
it,  in  any  case." 

Deane  nodded.  "I  shall  win  my  case  all  right,"  he  said. 
"For  me  there  never  was  any  danger  except  in  the  produc- 
tion of  that  document,  concerning  which  you  have  been  so 
mysterious." 

"It  was  mine,"  she  answered.  "I  ran  all  the  risk  to  get 
it.  I  ran  risks  the  memory  of  which  will  haunt  me  all  my 
days.  I  have  lost  Basil.  All  that  I  can  do  is  to  exact  the 
utmost  price  that  you  can  pay  for  that  little  paper." 

"It  is  n't  worth  it,  you  know,"  said  Deane.  "I  believe, 
even  now,  that  I  should  win  my  case,  anyhow." 

She  smiled  —  a  curious  little  contraction  of  the  corners 
of  her  lips.  Her  eyes  mocked  him.  "Perhaps,"  she  said, 
"but  it  is  a  different  thing  since  Sinclair's  murder.  Its 
production  to-day  would  ruin  you  inevitably,  whether  it 
were  held  a  legal  document  or  not." 


260  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"We  all  make  mistakes,"  he  said,  looking  out  of  the 
window. 

"But  too  often  others  pay  for  them!"  she  murmured, 
turning  away. 

Presently  he  gave  some  instructions  to  the  chauffeur. 
The  pace  of  the  car  slackened  as  they  reached  the  out- 
skirts of  London  and  turned  westward. 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  "the  world  is  full  of  surprises  for 
us.  I  little  thought,  when  I  came  down  to  Rakney,  that 
it  was  to  find  a  bride ! " 

She  shivered  a  little  at  his  words,  but  made  no  reply. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  "if  I  do  not  seem  very  coherent 
about  it  all.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  see,  I  was  not  ex- 
pecting to  take  up  obligations  of  this  sort  again  so  quickly." 

"If  you  do  not  mind,"  she  said  coldly,  "we  will  not  dis- 
cuss it." 

"I  may  at  least  be  permitted  to  ask,"  he  continued, 
"when  it  is  your  intention  to  —  marry  me?" 

"In  about  two  months'  time,"  she  answered. 

"You  would  like  our  engagement  announced?"  he 
asked. 

She  hesitated  for  a  few  seconds.  "In  a  fortnight's 
time,"  she  declared. 

"In  the  meantime,"  he  inquired,  "I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  being  received  by  you?" 

"Certainly,"  she  answered.     "I  shall  expect  to  lunch 


A  STRANGE   BETROTHAL  261 

and  dine  with  you  occasionally,  to  be  taken  to  the 
theatres,  and  for  short  expeditions  into  the  country  — 
Ranelagh  and  Hurlingham,  for  instance." 

"Delightful!" 

The  car  stopped  at  one  of  the  smallest  and  most  famous 
of  semi-private  hotels,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Bond  Street. 
Deane  assisted  his  companion  to  alight. 

"If  you  will  come  in  for  a  moment,"  he  said,  "I  will 
arrange  things  for  you  here.  They  know  me  very  well." 

She  followed  him  into  the  hotel  and  waited  while  he  in- 
terviewed the  manager.  Then  he  took  his  leave  of  her, 
bowing  over  her  reluctantly  offered  hand,  and  smiling  into 
her  face  as  though  honestly  anxious  to  penetrate  behind 
its  absolute  imperturbability. 

"I  hope  you  will  find  the  little  suite  comfortable,"  he 
said.  "You  must  go  to  bed  soon,  and  try  and  rest.  They 
will  do  everything  that  is  possible  for  you,  I  am  sure,  until 
you  have  your  own  maid  and  things.  Good-night ! " 

She  raised  her  eyes  for  a  moment  to  his,  but  there  was 
more  indignation  than  gratitude  in  the  glance  she  threw 
upon  him.  "I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you.  Good- 
night!" 

Deane  drove  back  to  his  rooms.  As  yet  he  could  scarcely 
realize  the  situation.  Had  anyone  ever  been  confronted 
with  a  position  so  unique  ?  The  mystery  of  the  girl's  im- 
penetrability was  solved  at  last ! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

DESPERATION 

THE  curtain  had  fallen  upon  the  first  act  of  this  little 
drama  in  Deane's  life.  Hefferom  was  committed 
for  trial.  Deane  had  walked  into  the  court  a  few  minutes 
late,  as  though  the  whole  affair  was  one  which  interested 
him  only  indirectly.  He  had  gone  into  the  witness  box 
without  hesitation,  and  his  story  had  been  so  perfectly 
rational  and  straightforward  that  people  began  to  won- 
der whether,  indeed,  any  defence  was  possible.  Cross- 
examination  only  amused  him.  Hefferom,  who  went  into 
court  expecting  to  be  released,  was  committed  at  once  to 
the  Old  Bailey,  and  to  everyone's  surprise,  his  own  in- 
cluded, was  refused  bail. 

Deane  left  the  court  a  few  minutes  after  the  case  was 
closed,  and  paused  for  a  moment  to  light  a  cigarette  on  the 
steps.  On  the  edge  of  the  pavement  there  was  a  woman 
who  watched  with  steady  and  scrutinizing  interest  every 
person  who  left  the  entrance  of  the  Law  Courts.  When 
Deane  came  out  she  advanced  towards  him.  "Is  Hefferom 
free?"  she  asked. 


DESPERATION  263 

Deane  looked  at  her,  and  recognized  at  once  Ruby 
Sinclair. 

"No!"  he  answered.    "He  is  committed  for  trial." 

"You  —  " 

She  leaned  forward  as  though  about  to  strike  him. 
Deane  neither  shrank  back  nor  showed  any  sign  of  in- 
terest in  her  words. 

"What  is  Hefferom  to  you?"   he  asked  quickly. 

"He  is  no  blackmailer,  at  any  rate!"  she  answered 
fiercely. 

"The  Court  has  ventured  to  think  otherwise,"  Deane 
declared. 

She  was  almost  at  his  side  now.  Suddenly  his  eyes 
caught  the  sight  of  something  glittering,  something  half 
drawn  from  the  pocket  of  her  dress.  Her  wrist  was  caught 
in  a  clasp  of  iron. 

"Young  lady,"  he  said  sternly,  "are  you  mad?" 

"If  I  am,  it  is  your  fault,"  she  answered. 

"Nonsense!"  he  declared.  "You  see  that  policeman 
there  ?  He  is  watching  us  now.  Let  go  the  revolver  and 
be  off.  I  don't  want  to  give  you  into  custody  —  my  life 
is  worth  something  for  others  as  well  as  myself  —  and  I 
shall  certainly  do  it  unless  you  obey  me." 

She  gave  a  little  sob,  and  her  fingers  relaxed  their  hold 
upon  the  revolver,  which  Deane  transferred  into  his  own 
pocket.  She  glided  away  into  the  crowd.  Deane  stepped 


264  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

into  his  brougham,  giving  the  man  the  address  of  the  hotel 
where  Winifred  Rowan  was  staying.  He  leaned  back  in 
the  seat,  looking  at  the  little  weapon  in  his  hands.  Some- 
how, the  fact  of  his  escape,  instead  of  bringing  any  exulta- 
tion with  it,  seemed  to  depress  him  strangely.  Deane  had 
never  called  himself  or  believed  himself  to  be  a  religious 
man,  yet  there  was  certainly  one  principle  which  had 
always  been  part  of  his  creed,  —  to  live  and  let  live.  He 
was  not  a  greedy  capitalist.  He  could  look  upon  money 
without  any  desire  to  absorb  it.  Yet  lately  he  seemed 
to  have  been  forced  into  tortuous  paths.  From  the  mo- 
ment when  he  had  attempted  to  make  use  of  Rowan  as 
a  tool,  everything  had  gone  against  him.  Rowan  himself 
lay  dead  in  that  windy  churchyard,  and  the  words  which 
had  been  spoken  over  Rowan's  grave  were  still  fresh  in 
his  memory.  He  had  lost  Lady  Olive,  of  whom,  in  a  way, 
he  had  been  fond.  And  at  her  own  bidding  he  was  en- 
gaged to  this  strange,  impenetrable  girl,  a  situation  which 
he  could  not  wholly  realize,  and  yet  which  he  felt  to  be 
surrounded  with  danger  and  humiliation.  Then  there 
was  this  other,  —  Ruby  Sinclair,  —  who  had  come  to  Lon- 
don expecting  to  find  a  fortune,  and  had  found  nothing 
but  her  uncle's  dead  body.  She,  too,  looked  upon  him  as 
a  hungry  schemer,  the  indirect  cause  of  her  uncle's  death,  a 
robber,  if  not  a  murderer!  He  looked  at  the  little  revolver, 
opened  it  carelessly,  and  laughed  as  he  stared  into  the 


DESPERATION  265 

empty  breech.  It  was  unloaded,  a  brand-new  toy  which 
had  never  been  discharged.  He  threw  it  into  the  oppo- 
site seat  with  a  little  gesture  of  contempt.  All  its  tragedy 
seemed  to  have  passed  away.  She  had  bought  it  to  frighten 
him  with.  There  had,  after  all,  been  no  serious  purpose 
in  her  mind.  She  too,  perhaps,  had  hoped  to  play  the 
part  of  extortioner. 

What  was  his  offence,  he  asked  himself,  as  his  brougham 
glided  along  the  Embankment.  Simply  this:  there  had 
been  a  claim  presented  for  his  mine,  which  was,  without 
doubt,  a  fraud,  which  few  people  would  ever  have  believed 
in,  and  which,  in  a  court  of  law,  would  have  stood  but 
little  chance  of  success.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  not 
to  defy  Sinclair,  to  go  to  his  directors  and  tell  them  the 
truth,  to  resist  stoutly  any  claim  the  man  might  bring! 
Since  his  first  compromise  with  Rowan,  everything  had 
gone  wrong.  It  was  unworthy  for  a  man  in  his  position 
to  have  allowed  Rowan  even  to  play  the  ambassador, 
apart  from  anything  else.  He  saw  very  clearly  in  those 
few  minutes  where  the  mistake  of  his  life  had  been.  What 
he  could  not  see  was  whither  he  was  tending. 

Winifred  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  hall  of  the  small 
hotel  in  Dover  Street.  For  three  days,  at  her  own  re- 
quest, he  had  not  seen  her.  Nothing,  however,  had  pre- 
pared him  for  the  transformation  which  he  now  saw. 
She  was  faultlessly  dressed  in  a  gown  of  the  latest 


266  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

design,  and  a  picture  hat  which  even  he  recognized 
as  being  something  quite  apart  from  the  usual  efforts  of 
even  the  Bond  Street  shopkeepers.  In  every  detail  she 
seemed  to  express  the  wholly  self-satisfied,  half-insolent 
perfection  of  the  woman  who  knows  that  she  may  and 
does  command  the  best  of  everything.  And  with  this 
change  in  her  dress  seemed  to  have  come  a  similar  change 
in  her  deportment.  Her  aloofness  was  still  evident  enough, 
but  she  carried  herself  with  confidence,  and  with  a  sort 
of  languid,  graceful  ease. 

"You  are  nearly  ten  minutes  late,"  she  said  quietly. 
"Where  are  you  taking  me  to  lunch?" 

"Wherever  you  like,"  he  answered.  "What  about 
Prince's?" 

She  took  a  gold  purse  and  a  tiny  black  spaniel  from  the 
neatly  dressed  maid  who  stood  by  her  side,  and  lifting  her 
skirts  in  her  other  hand,  passed  through  the  door  which 
he  was  holding  open.  The  lace  of  her  petticoat,  the  slen- 
derness  of  her  arched  instep,  the  delicate  narrowness  of  her 
patent  shoes,  were  revelations  to  him.  He  gave  an  order 
to  his  chauffeur,  and  sat  down  by  her  side. 

"You  appear,"  he  said,  "to  possess  a  gift  for  assimi- 
lation!" 

"My  sex  is  like  that,"  she  said.  "I  have  had  a  good 
many  years  to  wait,  to  store  up  knowledge  in.  Besides," 
she  continued,  a  little  mockingly,  "you  yourself  are  sup- 


DESPERATION  267 

posed  to  be  something  exceptional  in  the  way  of  grooming, 
are  n't  you  ?  There  is  no  need  for  other  people  to  find  our 
engagement  surprising." 

Looking  at  her  critically,  "I  think,"  he  said,  "that 
there  is  no  fear  of  that." 

"You  flatter  me,"  she  murmured. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  answered.  "People  might  wonder, 
perhaps,  how  it  is  possible  to  fall  in  love  with  anyone 
whose  expression  so  much  resembles  that  of  those  statues 
in  there,"  pointing  to  a  gallery  which  they  were  pass- 
ing. "You  have  no  other  fault.  There  is  none,  at 
least,  to  be  found  in  your  appearance.  You  certainly 
do  look,  however,  a  little  inclined  to  be  faultily  faultless." 

She  laughed,  —  a  laugh,  however,  which  brought  no 
color  into  her  cheeks  or  light  into  her  eyes.  "I  am  a 
statue,"  she  said,  "into  which  life  has  not  yet  been 
breathed.  You  see  you  have  been  a  little  remiss  up  till 
now.  You  have  never  attempted  to  make  love  to  me!" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say—  "  he  asked,  leaning  towards 
her, — 

She  gently  pushed  back  his  hand,  saying:  "Please 
don't  be  ridiculous.  Of  course,  you  must  know  that  over- 
tures of  that  sort,  under  the  circumstances,  are  impossible." 

"For  always?"  he  asked. 

"Certainly!" 

"Perhaps  you  will  draw  up  a  little  code  of  conditions," 


268  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

he  remarked.    "I  feel  a  little  in  the  dark  sometimes  as  to 
what  is  expected  of  me." 

"  You  will  easily  pick  it  up  as  we  go  along,"  she  replied. 
"Is  this  Prince's ?  I  wonder  if  I  shall  succeed  in  behaving 
as  though  I  had  lunched  here  every  day  of  my  life ! " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN  AFTERNOON'S  SHOPPING 

DEANE  found  a  singular  interest,  an  interest  which 
amounted  almost  to  fascination,  in  watching  the 
demeanor  and  general  deportment  of  his  companion.  Her 
adaptability  was  little  short  of  marvellous.  She  smiled  at 
the  right  moment  at  the  obsequious  maitre  d' hotel,  and  ex- 
hibited just  the  proper  amount  of  interest  in  the  luncheon 
which  Deane  ordered.  The  restaurant  was  somewhat 
crowded,  but  there  was  no  one  who  attracted  more  notice 
than  Deane  and  the  girl  who  sat  opposite  him,  —  slim, 
and  elegantly  dressed,  —  looking  around  her  with  a  certain 
partly  veiled  interest,  which  was  all  the  time  in  piquant 
contrast  to  the  languor  of  her  eyes  and  manner.  She  was 
by  no  means  a  silent  companion,  although  her  conversation 
consisted  for  the  most  part  of  questions.  She  had  an  un- 
erring gift  for  discovering  the  most  noteworthy  of  the 
little  crowd  by  whom  they  were  surrounded,  and  she  was 
continually  asking  questions  about  them,  with  a  persist- 
ence which  clearly  indicated  an  interest  scarcely  suggested 
by  her  general  deportment. 


270  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"I  wonder,"  Deane  said,  toward  the  end  of  their  meal, 
"whether  social,  preeminence  is  amongst  your  carefully 
veiled  ambitions." 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure,"  she  answered.  "Of  course,  one 
develops  according  to  circumstances.  In  the  office  of 
Messrs.  Rubicon  &  Moore  I  naturally  cared  nothing 
for  the  world  which  I  could  only  read  about  in  the 
columns  of  Modern  Society.  As  one  comes  into  touch  with 
things,  one  appreciates.  It  is  always  interesting  to  know 
people." 

"I  am  afraid,"  Deane  said,  with  covert  satire,  "that  my 
friends  are  scarcely  what  you  would  call  fashionable." 

"Your  friends?"  she  remarked,  looking  up  at  him. 
"But  that  does  n't  matter,  does  it?  I  shall  make  my  own 
friends  later  on." 

Deane  looked  across  the  table.  She  was  patting  the 
head  of  her  little  spaniel,  and  watching,  with  a  self- 
possession  which  amounted  almost  to  insolence,  the  ex- 
odus of  a  party  from  the  neighboring  table. 

"Young  lady,"  he  said,  "what  sort  of  a  life  did  you  lead 
before  you  went  to  Messrs.  Rubicon  &  Moore's  ?  I  always 
understood  that  your  people  were  very  poor,  and  only 
respectably  connected." 

"You  understood  the  truth,"  she  answered,  with 
composure. 

"Will  you  tell  me,  then,"  he  asked,  "how  you  learned 


AN  AFTERNOON'S  SHOPPING          271 

to  wear  your  clothes  ?  —  how  you  picked  up  all  the  little 
tricks  of  social  life?" 

The  very  faintest  of  smiles  parted  her  lips,  a  smile  that 
wrinkled  at  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  and  suddenly  altered 
her  appearance  so  that  Deane  was  forced  to  recognize  the 
charm  which  even  to  himself  he  had  denied. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Deane,"  she  said,  "it  is  the  natural 
heritage  of  a  woman  to  assimilate  quickly,  especially," 
she  added,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "amongst  surround- 
ings for  which  she  has  had  a  great  desire.  Many  a  time 
when  I  was  typing  price-lists  in  that  wretched  little  office, 
in  a  black  alpaca  gown,  with  my  hat  hanging  up  opposite 
me,  —  a  black  straw  with  faded  flowers,  which  had  cost 
me  three  or  four  shillings,  with  darned  stockings  and 
patched  boots,  —  many  a  time  I  have  left  off  typing  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  thought  and  wondered  what  this  must 
be  like.  I  suppose  I  have  what  you  would  call  a  natural 
aptitude  for  it.  It  is  because  I  have  thought  of  it,  pondered 
over  it,  desired  it." 

Deane  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  "Well,"  he  said, 
"let  me  congratulate  you.  You  play  the  game  to  perfec- 
tion. If  I  were  in  a  position  to  make  terms  — 

"You  are  not,"  she  interrupted  shortly.  "Please  to  pay 
the  bill.  I  am  going  to  take  you  shopping." 

They  left  the  brougham  at  the  corner  of  Bond  Street. 
"Winifred  had  signified  her  desire  to  walk  for  a  little  time. 


272  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Deane  found  himself  becoming  thoroughly  interested  — 
not,  as  he  told  himself,  in  his  companion  herself,  but  in 
his  study  of  her.  The  women  they  passed  she  subjected, 
nearly  every  one  of  them,  to  a  close  and  comprehensive 
scrutiny.  At  the  men  she  scarcely  glanced.  She  found, 
perhaps,  her  greatest  interest  in  the  shop  windows.  She 
led  him  across  the  road  to  the  establishment  of  a  great 
jeweller. 

"You  have  not  given  me  an  engagement  ring,"  she  said, 
a  little  abruptly.  "We  will  go  in  and  choose  one." 

He  followed  her  obediently  into  the  shop,  and  stood  by 
her  side  while  she  described  minutely  the  sort  of  ring 
she  required.  Her  manner  inspired  instant  respect.  She 
knew  exactly  what  she  wanted,  and  what  she  wanted  was 
the  rarest  and  most  beautiful  stones,  set  in  the  newest 
fashion.  She  showed  very  little  enthusiasm  —  hesitated, 
even  —  over  the  ring  which  was  produced  at  last,  after  a 
little  hesitation,  and  shown  almost  with  reverence.  It  had 
been  made  for  a  queen,  but  something  had  gone  wrong  — 
a  matter  of  politics  —  and  they  had  not  dared  to  part 
with  it.  Even  Deane  stared  when  the  man  at  his  elbow 
whispered  the  price,  but  Winifred  never  moved  a  muscle. 

"I  think  it  will  do,"  she  said,  turning  to  him.  "It  is 
very  nearly  what  I  wanted.  And  I  want  a  few  pins  — 
emeralds  and  diamonds  I  prefer." 

The  shopman  was  already  producing  a  tray  from  the 


AN  AFTERNOON'S   SHOPPING          273 

window.  She  spoke  of  pearls,  and  examined  those  that 
were  shown  her  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 

"I  shall  want  a  rope  of  pearls  very  soon,"  she  told  the 
man,  "but  not  just  yet.  Perhaps  you  will  let  Mr.  Deane 
know  when  you  have  enough  of  the  ones  the  color  and 
size  I  like." 

"It  will  give  us  very  great  pleasure,  madam,  to  collect 
them,"  the  man  said,  bowing. 

Deane  produced  his  cheque-book  —  fortunately,  he  was 
well  known  —  and  wrote  a  cheque  for  over  two  thousand 
pounds  in  exchange  for  the  receipt  wrhich  the  man  handed 
to  him.  Winifred  calmly  withdrew  her  glove  and  slipped 
on  the  ring.  The  other  things  she  asked  them  to  send. 
When  she  left  the  shop,  it  seemed  to  Deane  that  there  was 
a  little  more  color  in  her  cheeks  and  a  deeper  light  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Jewelry  interests  you  ?  "  he  remarked,  as  they  stood  for 
a  moment  on  the  pavement. 

"Yes!"  she  answered.  " Of  course  it  does.  Everything 
of  this  sort  interests  me.  Have  n't  I  longed  all  my  days  to 
feel  the  touch  of  pearls  upon  my  bare  neck,  to  have  some- 
thing like  this  upon  my  finger  that  I  could  look  at  and  wor- 
ship, not  only  for  itself  but  for  the  things  it  represents? 
Come  and  buy  me  some  flowers.  My  sitting-room  is  a 
wilderness.  Afterwards,  I  am  going  into  the  milliner's 
beyond." 


274  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

Deane  followed  her  obediently  into  the  florist's  opposite. 
She  chose  a  great  bowl  of  pink  roses  and  some  white  lilac. 

"How  many  of  the  roses,  madam?"  the  shopman  asked 
her. 

She  looked  at  him  with  faintly  upraised  eyebrows.  "  Oh ! 
send  them  as  they  are,"  she  answered  carelessly. 

"There  are  four  dozen,  madam,"  the  man  remarked, 
bowing. 

She  nodded  indifferently.  The  fact  that  they  were  a 
shilling  each  did  not  appear  to  interest  her. 

"Is  that  all  the  lilacs  you  have?"  she  asked,  as  they 
were  leaving  the  shop. 

"All  we  have  at  present,  madam,"  the  man  answered. 

"Please  get  some  more,"  she  said,  "if  you  can.  These 
hotel  sitting-rooms,"  she  added,  turning  to  Deane,  "seem 
to  have  a  sort  of  odor  of  their  own.  One  can  only  get  rid 
of  it  by  having  flowers  everywhere.  Now  I  am  going  in 
here,"  she  said,  stopping  at  a  tiny  milliner's.  "You  must 
wait  for  me  —  I  know  you  are  dying  to  smoke  a  cigarette 
—  but  you  had  better  give  me  your  pocket-book." 

"I  am  afraid,"  Deane  answered  imperturbably,  "that 
its  contents  will  be  of  little  use  to  you,  for  I  have  only 
twenty  pounds  with  me.  If  you  will  take  these"  -he 
handed  her  the  notes  —  "I  will  take  a  taximeter  and  cash 
a  cheque.  I  shall  only  be  a  few  minutes." 

She  nodded,  and  disappeared  into  the  shop.    When  she 


AN  AFTERNOON'S  SHOPPING          275 

came  out  again  Deane  had  returned  from  his  little  expe- 
dition, and  was  talking  to  some  men  whom  he  knew.  They 
glanced  at  Winifred  a  little  curiously  as  they  raised  their 
hats  and  passed  on. 

"We  can  perhaps  continue  our  shopping,"  Deane  said, 
"more  comfortably  now." 

She  ignored  the  faint  note  of  satire  in  his  tone.  "One 
needs  so  many  things,"  she  murmured.  "The  woman 
inside  is  just  making  out  my  bill.  I  think  I  shall  want 
another  thirty  pounds." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  you  have  not  been  able  to 
find  what  you  wanted.  The  amount  seems  trivial." 

"Well,"  she  said,  "  there  was  a  lace  dressing-gown  about 
which  I  could  not  quite  make  up  my  mind.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  I  had  better  have  it." 

She  turned  back  into  the  shop,  and  he  followed  her.  The 
lace  dressing-gown  was  still  lying  upon  a  chair,  and  in  a 
few  moments  Deane  found  it  being  held  up  before  him  by 
a  vivacious  little  Frenchwoman,  who  was  endeavoring  to 
convince  him  that  in  it  Madame  would  look  a  dream.  It 
was  very  filmy,  very  dainty,  wonderfully  expensive.  Deane 
heard  the  price  without  moving  a  muscle. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  have  it,"  he  said.  "  I  am  sure," 
he  went  on,  looking  into  her  eyes,  "that  you  will  look 
charming  in  it." 

For  the  first  time  he  seemed  to  score.    She  bent  over 


276  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

some  lace  handkerchiefs,  as  though  anxious  to  avoid  his 
gaze.  "Very  well,"  she  said,  "I  think  that  will  be  all  now. 
Please  pay,  and  let  us  go." 

Once  more  they  were  in  the  streets. 

"I  want  a  dressing-bag,"  she  said,  a  little  abruptly. 

"By  all  means,"  he  answered.  "We  had  better  go  back 
to  the  jeweller's.  Do  you  prefer  mother-of-pearl  fittings, 
or  gold?" 

"I  am  not  sure,"  she  answered.  "I  should  like  to  look 
at  some." 

They  were  twenty  minutes  or  so  making  a  selection. 
Deane  wrote  another  cheque,  and  stuffed  another  receipt 
into  his  pocket.  He  had  made  a  few  suggestions  himself, 
which  had  increased  the  cost  considerably. 

"Where  to  now?"  he  asked. 

"I  want  some  gloves,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  you  would 
rather  go  back  to  your  office  now.  I  must  not  take  up 
your  whole  afternoon." 

"I  am  entirely  at  your  service,"  he  assured  her.  "Be- 
lieve me,  I  find  shopping  quite  an  interesting  novelty." 

"You  mean,"  she  said,  "that  you  like  to  watch  the 
effect  upon  me.  You  think  I  don't  understand.  It  is 
quite  easy.  Tell  me  how  I  seem  to  you?" 

"You  seem  very  much  to  the  manner  born,"  he  an- 
swered, "but  you  seem  also,  if  I  may  say  so,  as  though 
you  were  getting  rid  of  the  pent-up  desires  of  years.  For 


AN  AFTERNOON'S  SHOPPING          277 

instance,"  he  added,  as  they  strolled  along  the  south 
side  of  the  street,  "  there  is  a  certain  almost  fierceness  — 
I  won't  say  barbarism  —  in  the  way  you  absorb  the 
things  you  desire.  I  am  not  complaining,"  he  added 
quickly.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  am  rather  inclined  to 
welcome  any  note  of  humanity.  So  long  as  we  are  en- 
gaged," he  added,  looking  at  her  sideways,  "one  would 
just  as  soon  feel  that  one  were  engaged  to  a  living  person 
as  an  automaton." 

She  kept  her  eyes  averted,  but  he  saw  the  faint  spot 
of  color  burning  in  her  cheeks. 

"This  is  where  I  think  I  shall  get  the  gloves  I  want," 
she  said. 

"  I  will  come  in  with  you,  if  I  may,"  he  answered. 

Her  purchases  here  showed  a  little  more  restraint. 
Nevertheless,  everything  she  chose  was  the  best  of  its 
sort.  When  she  came  out,  her  appetite  seemed  somehow 
whetted.  She  walked  along  the  street  almost  listlessly. 

"Do  you  know  that  it  is  nearly  half-past  four?"  he 
said.  "You  had  better  let  me  give  you  some  tea." 

She  nodded  indifferently.  "Thank  you.  That  would 
be  very  nice." 

""Will  you  come  to  my  rooms,"  he  asked,  "or  shall  we 
go  into  the  Carl  ton  and  hear  the  music?" 

She  looked  at  him  quickly,  and  then  back  into  a  shop 
window.  "To  the  Carlton,  if  you  please,"  she  said  coldly. 


278  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

They  walked  to  the  corner  of  the  street  and  stood 
waiting  while  the  brougham  came  round  to  them.  She 
turned  toward  a  florist's  and  looked  into  the  window. 

"You  would  like  some  more  flowers  ?"  he  asked. 

She  led  him  into  the  shop  without  a  word.  There  was 
a  cluster  of  red  roses  over  which  she  bent  and  selected 
one.  "I  should  like  this,  please,"  she  said. 

"One  only,  madam?"  the  shopman  asked. 

"One  only,"  she  answered  composedly.  "I  will  pin 
it  in  here  if  you  will  cut  the  stalk  a  little,"  she  added, 
removing  a  brooch  from  the  bosom  of  her  gown.  "Will 
you  pay  for  this,  please?"  she  added,  turning  to  Deane. 

He  was  taken  aback  for  a  moment.  "You  are  sure 
that  there  is  nothing  else?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,"  she  answered. 

They  left  the  shop  and  he  handed  her  into  the  brougham. 
Deane  was  suddenly  conscious  that  his  pulse  was  beating 
a  little  faster,  even  though  her  fingers  had  lain  in  his  ab- 
solutely unresponsive.  He  was  wondering  what  sort  of  a 
whim  it  was  which  had  led  her  to  desire  that  one  flower. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A    FRIEND 

A  MAN  in  the  city,  who  was  an  old  friend  of  Lord 
Nunneley,  stopped  the  latter  as  he  was  on  the 
point  of  entering  his  club. 

"By  the  bye,  Nunneley,"  he  said,  "did  I  understand 
- 1  think  I  saw  it  in  the  papers  —  that  the  marriage 
between  your  daughter  and  Stirling  Deane  was  off?" 

"The  engagement  has  been  broken  off,"  answered 
Lord  Nunneley,  a  little  stiffly.  "Why?" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  man.  "The  only  thing 
was  that  as  I  was  one  of  the  people  you  came  to,  to  ask 
about  Deane,  I  felt  that  if  it  was  still  on  I  ought  to  tell 
you  that  things  are  n't  supposed  to  be  just  the  same  as 
they  were." 

"Do  you  mean  about  Deane?"  asked  Lord  Nunneley. 

His  friend  nodded.  "There  are  some  very  curious 
rumors  going  about,"  he  said.  "You  remember,  of 
course,  his  charging  a  man  named  Hefferom  —  a  South 
African  —  with  an  attempt  at  blackmail  the  other  day  ? 
The  man  was  committed  for  trial,  and  there  was  not 
much  came  out  in  the  evidence  before  the  magistrates. 


280  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

Since  then,  however,  people  have  been  talking.  They 
say  that  Hefferom  had  actual  knowledge  of  documents 
proving  that  Deane's  title  to  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine 
was  a  false  one,  and  that  the  mine  in  reality  belonged  to 
Hefferom  himself  and  a  partner." 

"That  sounds  like  a  very  curious  story,"  Lord  Nun- 
neley  remarked.  "If  it  is  true,  why  does  n't  Hefferom 
produce  his  document  and  have  done  with  it?" 

"Because  it  has  been  stolen,"  the  other  answered. 
"There  are  all  sorts  of  stories  going  about,  too,  concern- 
ing the  theft.  The  point  remains,  however,  that  there 
is  a  strong  feeling  that  the  document  in  question  does 
exist,  and  that  it  may  turn  up.  If  so,  of  course,  it  would 
ruin  Deane.  I  see  that  the  shares  of  his  corporation  have 
had  a  most  tremendous  drop,  so  it  seems  as  though  there 
might  be  something  in  it.  Buy  a  special  edition  this  after- 
noon, and  you'll  know  more  about  it." 

Lord  Nunneley  nodded.  "Thank  you,"  he  said,  "I 
will  do  so." 

Lord  Nunneley  walked  slowly  along  Pall  Mall.  After 
all,  there  was  no  need  to  buy  a  paper.  On  the  placards 
which  the  boys  were  displaying  as  he  neared  Trafalgar 
Square  were  great  headlines,  — 

EXTRAORDINARY  DROP  OF  SHARES  IN  THE  GOLD- 
MINES ASSOCIATION.    PANIC  IN  THE  CITY. 


A   FRIEND  281 

Lord  Nunneley  bought  a  paper,  and  stood  for  a  few 
minutes  reading  it.  Then  he  called  a  taxicab,  and  gave 
the  man  the  address  of  Deane's  offices.  He  was  well 
known  there,  and  Deane's  confidential  man  at  once 
came  forward. 

"Mr.  Deane  will  see  you,  of  course,  my  lord,"  he  said. 
"He  is  really  disengaged  now,  but  we  are  obliged  to  deny 
him  to  everybody  because  of  these  interviewers.  Will 
you  come  with  me,  my  lord?" 

Lord  Nunneley  found  himself  ushered  into  Deane's 
private  room.  Deane  was  dictating  rapidly  to  his  secre- 
tary. As  usual  he  was  calm,  self-possessed,  carefully 
groomed  and  dressed.  There  was  nothing  about  his  ap- 
pearance in  any  way  to  suggest  a  panic.  He  heard  his 
visitor's  name,  however,  with  surprise. 

"  Nunneley ! "  he  exclaimed,  rising  to  his  feet. 

Lord  Nunneley  nodded,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "I 
was  in  the  city  and  thought  I  'd  look  you  up,  Deane," 
he  said.  "  Can  I  have  a  word  or  two  with  you  ?" 

"Certainly,"  Deane  answered.  "Give  us  five  minutes, 
Ellison,  —  or  stay  away  until  I  ring,"  he  added  to  his 
secretary. 

Lord  Nunneley  accepted  an  easy-chair  and  also  a  cig- 
arette, but  he  seemed  in  no  great  hurry  to  explain  his  busi- 
ness. "  I  was  very  sorry,  Deane,"  he  said  at  last, "  to  see  the 
papers  this  evening.  I  hope  the  trouble  is  n't  very  serious." 


282  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"  Do  you  hold  any  of  our  shares  ?"  Deane  asked. 

"If  I  did,"  said  the  other,  coloring  a  little,  "I  should 
not  have  come  here." 

Deane  accepted  the  reproof.    "I  beg  your  pardon." 

"I  daresay,"  continued  Lord  Nunneley,  "my  coming 
seems  to  you,  under  the  circumstances,  a  little  super- 
fluous. However,  what  I  wanted  to  say  is  this.  You 
see  Olive  is  our  only  child,  and  that  made  us  very  anxious 
about  anything  to  do  with  her.  I  am  sure  that  you  your- 
self must  feel  now,  when  you  are  under  so  much  anxiety, 
that  it  is  better  not  to  have  the  added  responsibility  of 
your  engagement  upon  your  shoulders." 

"I  have  never  questioned  your  wisdom  in  breaking 
it  off,"  Deane  said  quietly.  "Under  the  circumstances, 
I  agree  with  you  that  it  is  a  very  good  thing." 

"That's  all  right,"  Lord  Nunneley  continued,  a  little 
hastily.  "Of  course,  neither  you  nor  Olive  are  children, 
and  you  are  not  the  sort  to  wear  your  hearts  upon  your 
sleeve.  In  short,"  he  added,  somewhat  abruptly,  "you'll 
both  get  over  it.  There's  no  doubt  about  that.  I  did  n't 
come  to  revert  to  this  matter  at  all.  I  simply  wanted  to 
say  that  though  our  relations  are  changed,  I  still  do  feel 
a  considerable  amount  of  friendship  for  you,  Deane, 
and  I  wanted  to  come  and  just  tell  you  I  was  sorry.  And 
look  here,"  he  went  on,  a  little  awkwardly,  "I've  be- 
tween seven  and  eight  thousand  pounds  for  which  I  am 


A  FRIEND  283 

looking  for  an  investment,  and  if  the  money 's  any  use  to 
you,  Deane,  why  say  the  word,  and  I  '11  write  you  a  cheque 
on  the  spot." 

Deane  looked  at  his  visitor  for  a  moment  in  an  aston- 
ishment which  triumphed  over  the  natural  impassivity 
of  his  expression.  Then  a  little  flush  rose  in  his  cheeks. 
He  got  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Nunneley,"  he  said,  "this  is  awfully  good  of  you. 
I  shall  not  forget  it.  Believe  that.  If  we  wanted  money, 
or  if  I  did  personally,  I  'd  accept  your  offer  like  a  shot." 

"Too  much  of  a  drop  in  the  bucket,  I  suppose,"  Lord 
Nunneley  remarked.  "It  is  n't  much,  I  know." 

"It  isn't  that,"  Deane  interrupted.  "The  situation 
is  simply  that  our  shares  have  had  a  big  drop  because  of 
certain  rumors  about  our  title  to  the  Little  Anna  Gold- 
Mine.  If  those  rumors  were  confirmed,  five  or  six  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds  would  n't  help  us.  If  they  are  not 
confirmed,  and  if  they  die  a  natural  death,  as  I  imagine 
they  must,  our  shares  will  recover  themselves  and  we 
shall  not  need  money." 

"You  don't  believe  in  the  existence  of  any  such  docu- 
ment, then?"  Lord  Nunneley  asked. 

"I  do  not  believe  that  it  will  be  produced,"  Deane 
answered,  "and  if  it  were  produced,"  he  went  on,  "I  do 
not  believe  in  its  validity.  I  would  not  say  as  much, 
even,  as  this  to  the  reporters,  but  the  document  about 


284  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

which  people  have  been  talking  is  simply  an  original 
claim  to  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine,  which  was  deserted 
by  the  very  man  who  put  me  on  to  it,  and  in  whose  name 
the  claim  stands.  You  see,  therefore,  that  any  attempt 
to  establish  a  legal  claim  is  more  or  less  a  swindle." 

Lord  Nunneley  rose  to  his  feet.  "You  are  really  not 
so  very  much  alarmed,  then?" 

Deane  shook  his  head.  "This  drop  in  shares,  after  all," 
he  said,  "does  not  affect  us  particularly,  except  for  the 
time.  It  simply  means  that  the  market  declares  that  we 
are  a  few  hundred  thousand  pounds  poorer  to-day  than 
we  were  yesterday.  Whether  the  market  is  right  or  not 
remains  to  be  proved." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  to  have  seen  you,  at  any  rate,  Deane, 
and  remember,  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do  — 

"You  have  already,"  Deane  said,  "done  a  great  deal, 
Lord  Nunneley.  I  shall  not  forget  your  visit  or  your 
offer." 

"That's  all  right,"  Lord  Nunneley  declared.  "Olive 
did  not  know  I  was  coming,  but  I  'm  sure  if  she  had  known 
she  would  have  sent  her  love.  Don't  bother  to  ring.  I 
can  find  my  way  out." 

The  visit  of  his  projected  father-in-law  seemed  to 
Deane  like  a  pleasant  little  oasis  in  the  middle  of  a  long, 
dreary  day.  These  rumors  of  which  Lord  Nunneley  had 
keard  seemed  to  have  come  into  existence  during  the 


A   FRIEND  285 

last  few  hours.  There  had  been  some  large  failures  lately, 
and  investors  were  all  nervous.  The  country  was  short 
of  money.  In  ordinary  times,  an  attack  upon  the  sta- 
bility of  such  a  corporation  as  his  would  have  been  im- 
possible. To-day,  nothing  seemed  impossible.  In  his 
heart,  Deane  knew  or  felt  that  the  situation  was  safe. 
Yet  the  very  fact  that  these  rumors  had  sprung  into  be- 
ing seemed  to  denote  the  line  of  defence  which  Hefferom's 
lawyers  were  prepared  to  offer  in  the  coming  trial.  He 
would  be  accused  everywhere  —  if  not  in  words,  in  sug- 
gestion —  of  complicity  in  the  murder  of  Sinclair.  The 
existence  of  that  document  would  be  believed  in.  It 
would  be  said  openly,  perhaps,  that  he  was  responsible 
himself  for  its  suppression.  It  was  not  the  fact  that  on 
paper  he  was  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  million  poorer  than 
he  had  been  a  week  ago  that  troubled  him.  It  was  the 
reflection  that  bold  though  his  words  had  been,  it  was 
within  the  power  of  the  man  who  lay  awaiting  his  trial 
practically  to  ruin  him.  The  question  of  the  where- 
abouts of  the  document  might  be,  in  a  few  weeks,  the 
most  discussed  matter  in  London. 

Deane,  acting  upon  a  sudden  impulse,  left  his  office 
by  the  back  entrance  and  drove  to  the  small  hotel  where 
Winifred  was  staying.  Miss  Rowan  was  at  home,  he 
was  told,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  delay  he  was  shown 
into  her  sitting-room. 


286  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"Miss  Rowan  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment,"  her 
maid  announced,  coming  through  from  the  bedroom. 
"She  is  with  her  dressmaker  at  present." 

Deane  nodded,  and  took  up  the  newspaper  mechani- 
cally from  the  table.  The  room  seemed  to  him  almost 
faint  with  the  perfume  of  flowers.  He  glanced  around 
carelessly,  and  suddenly  found  his  attention  riveted 
upon  her  writing-table.  In  a  little  silver  vase,  standing 
by  itself,  was  the  red  rose  which  he  had  bought  for  her 
two  days  since! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PASSION 

SHE  came  to  him  in  a  few  moments,  dressed  in  a  fas- 
cinating negligee  gown,  —  came  to  him  with  a  rustle 
of  silk  and  a  faint  expression  of  surprise  upon  her  up- 
raised eyebrows. 

"I  did  not  expect  you  until  this  evening,"  she  remarked. 

He  nodded.  "I  took  the  liberty  of  coming  here  to  ask 
you  a  question." 

She  smiled  as  she  sat  down  upon  the  sofa.  "Oh,  the 
paper  is  quite  safe." 

"How  did  you  know  what  I  came  for?"  he  asked,  a 
little  startled. 

"My  dear  friend,"  she  said,  shrugging  her  shoulders, 
"as  I  have  decided  that  it  is  to  my  interests  to  link  my 
future  with  yours,  you  cannot  wonder  that  I  have  found 
such  details  as  those  "  —  she  pointed  to  an  evening  paper 
which  he  noticed  now  lying  upon  her  writing-table  — 
"interesting.  I  have  been  trying  to  understand  how  mat- 
ters stand.  Tell  me  if  I  am  right !  It  seems  to  me  that  so 
long  as  that  document  remains  an  imagined  thing,  so  long 
as  it  is  not  produced  or  sworn  to  definitely,  you  are  safe." 


288  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"The  corporation  is  safe,"  answered  Deane,  "and  in  a 
measure,  I  suppose,  I  am.  On  the  other  hand,  I  shall  be 
accused,  naturally,  of  suppressing  it,  and  probably  of  com- 
plicity in  Sinclair's  murder.  There  is  Hefferom,  you  see, 
prepared  to  swear  that  Sinclair  came  to  London  with  that 
paper  in  his  possession.  Sinclair  is  known  to  have  come  to 
my  office.  He  has  certainly  been  murdered.  The  paper 
cannot  be  found,  and  the  corporation  remains  in  posses- 
sion of  the  mine.  People  will  certainly  put  these  things 
together." 

She  nodded.  "It  will  be  very  bad  indeed,"  she  said 
slowly,  "for  your  reputation." 

"It  will,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Deane,  "considerably  lessen 
my  social  value  as  your  husband." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  replied,  "that  money  is  so  power- 
ful. I  daresay  you  will  be  able  to  live  it  down." 

"With  your  help,"  Deane  remarked  sarcastically,  "it 
seems  to  me  very  possible.  By  the  bye,"  he  continued, 
"with  reference  to  that  document,  you  must  forgive  me  if 
I  feel  some  slight  uneasiness  at  times  as  to  its  safety." 

"You  need  have  none,"  she  answered.  "It  is  in  safe 
keeping." 

"  It  is  your  own  interests  as  well  as  mine  you  are  guard- 
ing," he  reminded  her. 

"I  am  perfectly  aware  of  it,"  she  answered.  "Since 
you  are  here,  may  I  offer  you  some  tea?" 


PASSION  289 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  "I  think  not.  By  the  bye,  do  you 
care  to  go  to  the  Opera  to-night?  I  have  two  stalls,  and 
Melba  is  singing." 

A  sudden  light  flashed  over  her  face.  It  was  as  though 
the  mask  had  been  raised  for  a  moment.  Perhaps  by  con- 
trast her  tone  seemed  colder  than  ever  as  she  answered 
him.  "  I  should  like  to  very  much.  Will  you  call  for  me  ?" 

"At  half-past  seven,"  he  answered.  "We  will  have  a 
little  dinner  somewhere  first." 

"You  are  sure,"  she  asked,  "that  you  do  not  mind  being 
seen  out?" 

"It  is  all  to  my  advantage,"  he  answered.  "The  men 
who  are  most  talked  about  should  never  shrink  from  pub- 
licity. The  people  who  have  been  told  to-day  that  I  am  a 
bankrupt,  a  swindler,  and  a  murderer,  and  that  my  ruin 
is  only  a  matter  of  minutes,  will  hesitate  if  they  see  me 
with  you  in  the  stalls  of  the  Opera  to-night." 

"Nero  fiddled,"  she  reminded  him. 

"Nero  was  a  hysterical  person,"  he  answered.  "My 
tendencies  are  towards  the  other  extreme.  Until  half- 
past  seven,  then." 

"Until  half-past  seven,"  she  repeated. 

He  bowed  and  left  her  without  even  shaking  hands. 
She  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment,  looking  at  the  door 
which  he  had  closed  behind  him.  Then  she  crossed  the 
room  slowly,  and  lifted  the  vase  with  its  solitary  rose  to 


290  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

her  lips.  A  second  later  it  lay  dashed  to  pieces  upon  the 
floor,  the  flaming  color  was  in  her  cheeks,  her  fists  were 
clenched. 

"I  hate  him!"  she  declared  to  herself.  "I  hate  him 
now  more  than  ever!" 

Winifred  talked  more  than  usual  at  the  short  dinner 
which  they  had  at  a  famous  cafe"  close  to  the  Opera  House. 
Deane,  a  little  weary  with  the  strain  of  the  day,  was  at 
first  irresponsive,  but  gradually  he  forgot  himself  in  the 
interest  of  playing  his  new  part.  She  was  wearing  a  dress 
of  black  velvet,  a  rope  of  pearls  which  had  been  sent  for 
her  inspection  only  that  afternoon,  and  pearl  earrings, 
concerning  which  she  gravely  asked  his  opinion.  There 
was  something  a  little  un-English-looking  about  her  to- 
night, —  about  the  small,  delicate  head  with  the  masses  of 
brown  hair,  the  pale  complexion,  the  deep  eyes  with  their 
hidden  depths,  the  pearls  which  fell  so  gracefully  over  her 
black  gown.  Many  people  knew  him  by  sight,  and  pointed 
him  out  to  others,  —  the  man  whom  everyone  was  talking 
about,  the  man  who  was  supposed  to  be  shivering  on  the 
brink  of  social  and  financial  ruin,  whose  very  freedom 
from  justice  might  be  a  matter  of  hours,  —  sitting  there 
with  a  girl  who  was  unknown  to  all  of  them,  yet  without  a 
doubt  one  of  his  own  world !  Some  of  them  wondered  that 
she  should  care  to  be  seen  about  with  him  at  such  a  time. 


•'  I  hate  him  !  "  she  declared  to  herself.     "  T  hate  him  now 
more  than  ever  !  " 

Paye  290. 


PASSION  291 

These,  however,  were  mostly  the  men.  The  women,  who 
saw  him  as  usual,  well-groomed,  good-looking,  debonair, 
only  admired  him  the  more  for  his  courage. 

They  had  driven  the  few  yards  together  to  the  Opera 
House  in  silence.  Nevertheless,  Deane  fancied  that  his 
companion  seemed  to-night  a  little  more  accessible.  He 
was  amazed  to  find  how  great  an  interest  he  was  beginning 
to  take  in  her  moods,  amazed  to  find  himself  taking  every 
opportunity  to  touch  her  fingers,  to  speak  covertly  of  the 
destined  ending  of  their  engagement.  He  fancied  some- 
times that  her  fingers  rested  more  softly  in  his,  that  the  chill 
aloofness  of  her  demeanor  had  been  more  than  once  on  the 
point  of  being  raised.  And  yet,  after  all,  it  might  only  be 
fancy,  he  thought,  as  he  followed  her  and  the  attendant 
along  the  corridor  into  their  places.  He  was  a  fool  to 
trouble  himself  about  it.  She  was  very  likely  what  she 
had  always  seemed,  —  a  bloodless,  indifferent  creature, 
with  a  greed  for  jewels  and  fine  clothes  sprung  up  in  her, 

—  a  fungus  growth,  the  evil  result  of  her  long  years  of 
servitude.    Yet  that  night  his  convictions  as  to  her  cold- 
ness received  something  of  a  shock.    It  was  the  first  night 
they  had  been  to  the  Opera  together,  and  he  had  imagined 
that  she  would  sit  as  she  had  sat  through  so  many  theatres, 

—  slightly  bored,  slightly  nonchalant,  interested  only  to 
know  who  the  people  might  be  by  whom  they  were  sur- 
rounded, and  in  the  play  itself  if  by  chance  it  was  well 


292  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

acted  and  satisfactory.  To-night,  he  realized  that  there 
were  things  which  could  move  her,  even  if  he  himself  had 
not  the  power.  He  saw  her  eyes  flash  with  the  glory  of 
the  music,  and  he  saw  them  turn  marvellously  soft  and 
tender  as  the  white-robed  Iseult  sang  to  them  with  sobs  in 
her  throat,  sobs  which  seemed  to  make  that  melody  only 
more  intense  and  sweeter.  She  seemed  to  respond  to  every 
note  of  the  music.  More  than  once  he  saw  her  quiver  with 
excitement.  By  accident  her  fingers  touched  his  and  rested 
there.  He  felt  a  thrill  which  amazed  him.  For  the  mo- 
ment he,  too,  forgot  that  wretched  maze  of  affairs  in  which 
he  was  plunged.  The  great  passionate  love-story  throbbed, 
too,  in  his  heart  and  veins.  The  figures  on  the  stage  were 
for  a  moment  dim.  They  existed  only  as  types.  In  those 
few  seconds  he  realized,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  real 
meaning  of  this  wonderful  emotion  with  which  the  very  air 
around  them  seemed  charged,  and  almost  at  the  moment 
of  realization  there  came  to  him  fiercely,  insistently,  the 
great  question,  —  did  she  share  it,  did  she  understand,  was 
it  possible  that  such  a  passion  could  be  born  of  itself,  with- 
out response  or  encouragement  ?  He  leaned  forward,  and 
tried  to  see  into  her  face.  A  great  stillness  reigned  in  the 
half-darkened  Opera  House,  a  stillness  except  for  the  won- 
derful music  which  still  flowed  from  those  divine  lips.  He 
leaned  forward  until  he  could  see  her  face,  arid  his  heart 
throbbed  with  the  wonder  of  it!  All  the  passion,  all  the 


PASSION  293 

intense  mystery  of  a  strenuous  love  were  there  in  her  glow- 
ing eyes,  her  half-parted  lips !  It  was  only  a  momentary 
glimpse  he  had.  Then,  as  though  conscious  of  his  obser- 
vation, she  raised  her  fan.  Then*  eyes  had  never  met.  He 
was  left,  after  all,  with  the  problem  unsolved ! 

Deane  came  down  to  earth  again  as  the  curtain  fell.  His 
companion  drew  a  long,  soft  breath,  and  leaned  back  in 
her  seat. 

"Don't  you  want  to  go  out  and  smoke  or  something?" 
she  asked  calmly.  "I  do  not  feel  like  talking  at  all.  The 
music  is  wonderful ! " 

He  left  her  without  a  word.  Only  as  he  reached  the 
end  of  his  row  and  turned  to  walk  up  the  sloping  aisle, 
he  glanced  back  once  more.  She  had  not  moved.  Her 
eyes  were  closed.  She  seemed,  indeed,  like  a  person  ex- 
hausted with  the  strain  of  listening.  He  made  his  way  out 
to  the  refreshment  room,  humming  softly  to  himself.  It 
was  a  mask,  after  all,  which  she  wore !  He  understood  sud- 
denly the  relief  which  had  come  to  him.  He  understood 
that  this  engagement,  which  had  seemed  to  him  like  a 
piece  of  half-contemptible  bathos,  had  suddenly  become 
the  first  and  most  desirable  thing  in  his  life ! 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A    DESPAIRING    CALL 

THE  great  lawyer  whom  the  telephone  message  from 
Deane  had  summoned  sat  in  a  comfortable  easy- 
chair  adjoining  Deane's  writing-table.  His  manner  was 
serious,  but  not  discouraging. 

"You  see,  Deane,"  he  said,  "after  all,  it  depends  very 
much  upon  this  alleged  document.  The  whole  case  prac- 
tically hinges  upon  it.  If  the  defendants  are  unable  to 
procure  it,  or  a  copy  of  it,  or  witnesses  who  can  swear  to 
it,  I  do  not  think  that  they  can  do  us  much  harm,  especially 
if  we  take  the  course  which  I  have  already  suggested  to  our 
counsel.  As  yet  we  have  received  no  intimation  that  the 
other  side  have  the  slightest  trace  of  the  document  in  ques- 
tion. If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  should  come  into  their  pos- 
session, they  are  bound  to  notify  us.  May  I  ask,  Mr. 
Deane,  what  you  believe  the  probabilities  are  as  regards 
this  matter?" 

"It  is  n't  a  matter  of  probability,"  Deane  answered. 
"To  the  best  of  my  belief,  there  is  no  such  document  in 
existence." 


A  DESPAIRING   CALL  295 

"In  that  case,"  the  lawyer  continued,  "I  think  that  you 
need  have  no  further  anxiety  about  the  case.  Of  course, 
there  is  no  chance  of  a  long  sentence  for  the  defendant. 
You  understand  that?" 

"Perfectly,"  Deane  answered.  "I  don't  wish  it.  I 
should  not  have  prosecuted  him  at  all,  but  it  seemed  the 
only  way  to  stop  what  might  have  grown  into  a  serious 
annoyance." 

"I  am  sorry,"  the  lawyer  said,  "that  the  whole  thing 
seems  to  have  been  taken  so  seriously  by  the  Press  and  the 
public.  I  see  your  shares  have  dropped  to  a  ridiculous 
amount." 

"A  chance  for  someone  to  make  money,"  Deane  re- 
marked. "I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming  up, 
Hardaway." 

The  lawyer  nodded  and  took  his  departure.  Deane  sat 
for  some  time  in  a  brown  study.  Fundamentally  he  had 
all  the  direct  impulses  and  propensities  of  a  truthful  man. 
The  course  of  action  into  which  he  was  at  present  driven 
was  distasteful  —  almost  repugnant  to  him.  Yet,  after  all, 
he  was  only  fighting  Hefferom  with  his  own  weapons.  The 
man  was  a  blackmailer,  —  nothing  more  or  less.  Yet  the 
fact  did  not  seem  to  Deane  to  make  his  hands  the  cleaner. 
And  there  was  the  girl !  The  memory  of  her  face  haunted 
him,  her  desperate  plight  had  been  only  too  apparent.  If 
that  document  of  Sinclair's  was  worth  the  paper  it  was 


296  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

written  on,  it  was  he  who  was  the  supplanter,  the  thief, 
morally  responsible  for  her  grievous  plight !  He  moved  in 
his  chair  uneasily.  It  was  almost  a  relief  when  the  tele- 
phone bell  at  his  elbow  rang. 

"Is  that  Mr.  Deane?"  a  woman's  voice  asked. 

"Yes!"  he  answered. 

"Mr.  Stirling  Deane?" 

"Yes,  —  what  is  it?"  he  asked  quickly. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  terrified  voice, 
which  had  still  seemed  somehow  familiar  to  him,  was 
silent.  He  could  hear  from  the  room  to  which  the  instru- 
ment was  connected,  the  musical  chiming  of  a  Swiss 
clock  —  the  call  of  a  bird  —  and  then  silence.  His  hand 
was  upon  the  receiver  to  ring  up  the  Exchange  when  sud- 
denly a  cry  of  terror,  a  cry  of  shrill,  agonized  terror,  rang 
in  his  ear. 

"  Stirling !     Mr.  Deane !     Stirling !     Come  —  " 

There  was  an  abrupt  cessation  of  that  frantic  cry. 
The  last  word  was  muffled,  as  though  something 
had  been  dashed  against  the  speaker's  mouth.  There 
was  the  sound  of  the  falling  of  a  chair  or  heavy  piece 
of  furniture.  Then  silence !  —  silence  ominous,  heavy, 
maddening!  .  .  . 

Deane  rang  up  the  Exchange.  The  young  lady  who  an- 
swered him  was  a  little  annoyed  at  his  vehemence. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  to  whom  I  have  been  speak- 


A  DESPAIRING   CALL  297 

ing!"  he  exclaimed.     "Where  was  I  rung  up  from  a  few 
moments  ago?" 

"No  idea,"  the  young  lady  answered  tartly.  "Didn't 
they  give  their  name?" 

"I  want  to  know  where  the  call  was  from,"  Deane  said. 
"Please  tell  me  quickly." 

"We  don't  take  any  note  of  local  calls,"  the  young  lady 
answered.  "Ring  off,  please!" 

"Stop!"  Deane  cried.  "Listen,  please!  This  is  im- 
portant !  I  am  Mr.  Deane  —  Mr.  Stirling  Deane  —  of  the 
Incorporated  Gold-Mines  Association.  I  have  just  been 
rung  up  by  a  woman  in  distress  —  some  one  who  appealed 
for  help.  She  was  dragged  away  from  the  telephone 
before  she  could  tell  me  where  she  was  speaking  from. 
You  must  try  and  find  out  the  number  for  me.  You  must 
do  it !  It  may  be  a  matter  of  life  or  death ! " 

There  was  an  instant's  silence  —  a  buzzing  noise  — 
then  a  man's  voice.    "Sorry,  sir,"  he  said,  "our  operator 
cannot  remember  the  exact  number  that  was  speaking  to 
you.    It  was  a  house  in  Red  Lion  Square,  though.    She  is 
sure  of  that." 

"How  many  subscribers  have  you  there?"  Deane  asked 
swiftly. 

"Twenty-four  or  five,  sir,"  the  man  answered.  "Sorry 
we  can't  help  you  further." 

Deane  left  the  office  in  such  a  hurry  that  a  whole  crop 


298  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

of  fresh  rumors  were  started.  He  drove  as  swiftly  as  his 
electric  brougham  could  take  him  to  the  corner  of  Red  Lion 
Square.  All  the  time  with  a  telephone  directory  on  his 
knee,  he  was  copying  out  addresses.  He  entered  Red  Lion 
Square  on  foot,  with  the  paper  in  his  hand.  There  were 
twenty-eight  addresses.  He  had  no  idea  where  to  begin. 

Seven  or  eight  were  the  addresses  of  business  firms.  He 
struck  these  out.  Then  he  tried  the  others.  One  after  the 
other  he  interviewed  all  sorts  of  people  unsuccessfully.  He 
was  received  everywhere  with  suspicion.  Most  of  the 
houses  were  converted  flats  or  cheap  lodging-houses.  Half- 
dressed  women  leered  at  him  over  the  banisters;  shabby 
men  of  all  ages  were  slavishly  anxious  to  earn  a  tip.  Grad- 
ually he  was  forced  to  realize  that  his  was  a  mad,  almost 
hopeless  search.  People  stood  at  their  doors  and  watched 
him,  jeering.  Women  hung  out  of  the  windows,  shouting 
coarse  invitations  or  derisive  comments  upon  his  persever- 
ance. His  nerves  were  all  on  edge,  his  blood  was  hot  with 
anger.  Somewhere  within  a  few  hundred,  perhaps  a  few 
yards  of  him,  this  girl  was  in  the  hands  of  persons  who 
meant  ill  to  her.  The  terror  in  her  voice  was  no  ordinary 
fear.  She  was  face  to  face  with  the  worst  that  could 
happen. 

He  reached  the  last  house  on  his  list.  It  was  on  the 
further  side  of  the  square,  and  one  of  the  most  respectable 
in  appearance.  Contrary  to  what  was  apparently  the  usual 


A  DESPAIRING   CALL  299 

custom,  the  front  door  was  closed,  and  most  of  the  blinds 
drawn.  There  was  no  sign  of  life  about  the  place  when  he 
rang  the  bell.  Yet  after  scarcely  a  moment's  delay  the 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  a  neatly  dressed  parlor-maid 
answered  his  summons. 

Deane  adopted  new  tactics.  He  drew  a  sovereign  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  held  it  between  his  fingers.  "  You 
are  on  the  telephone,  I  believe,"  he  said,  "number  0198. 
Someone  rang  me  up  from  here  about  an  hour  or  so  ago. 
I  recognized  the  voice,  but  the  message  was  indistinct. 
Will  you  tell  Miss  Rowan  that  I  am  here?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "There  is  no  one  of  that 
name  living  here,  sir,"  she  answered. 

"A  rather  pale  young  lady,  tall  and  slim,  who  has  just 
arrived,"  Deane  persisted.  "I  am  anxious  to  find  her 
quickly.  Can't  you  help  me?" 

He  pulled  out  a  handful  of  gold,  and  the  girl  looked  at 
it  with  covetous  eyes.  She  sighed  as  she  once  more  shook 
her  head. 

"There  is  no  one  here  of  that  name,  sir,"  she  said,  — 
"no  young  lady  at  all,  in  fact." 

"You  are  quite  sure?"  Deane  asked,  with  a  sinking 
heart. 

"Quite,  sir,"  the  girl  answered  confidently. 

She  made  a  movement  as  though  to  close  the  door.  It  is 
possible  that  Deane  would  have  taken  the  hint  and  de- 


300  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

parted,  but  for  that  last  searching  look  which  he  threw 
at  her.  He  thrust  his  boot  against  the  door,  and  resumed 
his  place  on  the  inner  side  of  the  threshold.  From  there 
he  looked  at  her  once  more.  He  was  right.  There  were 
traces  of  powder  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyebrows  were 
certainly  not  natural.  Underneath  her  trim  black  skirt 
he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  brown  open-worked  stockings, 
and  tan  shoes  with  a  large  bow  and  high  heels.  Instinc- 
tively he  felt  that  no  ordinary  servant  would  have  been 
allowed  to  go  about  like  this. 

"I  should  like  to  see  your  mistress  before  I  go,"  Deane 
said  firmly.  "Please  go  and  tell  her.  I  will  not  detain 
her  more  than  a  few  moments." 

"  She  's  not  in,"  the  girl  answered,  with  a  distinct  change 
of  manner.  "Please  don't  stay  about  here  or  I  shall  get 
into  trouble." 

"I  am  sorry,"  Deane  answered,  "but  if  she  is  not  in,  I 
am  going  to  wait  for  her." 

He  was  in  the  hall  now,  —  a  miserable,  untidy  place 
with  a  broken-down  mirror  and  hat-rack  as  sole  furniture, 
and  covered  with  a  much  soiled  oilcloth.  The  stairs  were 
right  ahead  of  him,  and  Deane  looked  up.  He  looked 
into  a  woman's  face  as  she  leaned  over  the  well  of  the 
banisters,  looking  down.  Almost  immediately  she  drew 
avray  and  came  down. 

Deane  rose  up  to  meet  her.    She  was  dressed  in  black, 


A  DESPAIRING   CALL  301 

was  very  pale,  with  large  earrings,  —  pretty  in  a  way, 
and  certainly  not  of  formidable  appearance. 

"You  wished  to  see  me?"  she  asked,  a  little  hesitat- 
ingly, as  she  reached  the  bottom  stair.  "I  thought  I 
heard  you  tell  my  servant  that  you  wished  to  speak  to  her 
mistress." 

"You  are  right,  madam,"  Deane  answered.  "I  do 
wish  to  speak  to  you." 

"And  what  is  it  that  you  wish?"   the  lady  asked. 

"An  act  of  kindness,"  Deane  answered,  "for  which  I 
am  willing  to  pay  —  to  pay  heavily.  I  am  in  search  of  a 
young  lady  who  rang  me  up  only  an  hour  or  so  ago  from 
this  locality,  —  I  believe  from  this  house.  I  am  offering 
a  reward  of  two  hundred  pounds  for  any  one  who  may 
help  me  in  my  search." 

He  raised  his  voice.  He  meant  the  servant,  or  the  per- 
son who  was  posing  as  a  servant,  to  hear  him.  He 
was  unable  to  observe  her  closely,  but  he  noticed  that 
she  moved  a  little  nearer,  and  appeared  to  be  listening 
intently. 

"I  am  afraid  that  you  have  come  to  the  wrong  house," 
the  lady  answered  gently.  "This  is  not  a  very  nice 
neighborhood,  I  know,  but  we  are  quite  respectable 
people  here,  and  we  are  not  upon  the  telephone  at 
all." 

"Not  on  the  telephone  at  all?"  Deane  repeated.    "But 


302  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

I  have  your  name  and  number  from  the  telephone  com- 
pany, —  number  0198  —  Mrs.  Garvice !" 

"Mrs.  Garvice  has  left,"  the  lady  declared.  "I  have 
taken  the  house,  but  the  telephone  was  of  no  use  to  me, 
so  I  have  had  it  taken  away." 

"May  I  see  the  place  where  the  instrument  was?" 
Deane  asked.  "I  have  a  particular  reason  for  asking." 

"Certainly  not!"  the  lady  answered,  a  little  sharply. 
"Open  the  door,  Hilda.  We  have  nothing  else  to  say  to 
you,  sir." 

The  maid  obeyed,  and  Deane  reluctantly  took  up  his 
hat.  He  was  already  upon  the  threshold  when  he  sud- 
denly stopped.  A  remarkable  change  came  over  him. 
He  stepped  quickly  back.  The  woman  had  gone  as  pale 
as  death.  From  one  of  the  rooms  upstairs  came  the  shrill, 
unmistakable  summons  of  a  telephone  bell,  and  mingling 
with  it  the  chiming  of  a  cuckoo  clock. 

"Shut  the  door,"  Deane  ordered  sternly.  "Madam," 
he  said,  turning  towards  the  lady  of  the  house,  "it  is  still 
within  your  power  to  earn  that  two  hundred  pounds!" 

The  woman  looked  at  him  curiously.  "Two  hundred 
pounds,"  she  said,  "is  a  great  deal  of  money.  One  does 
not  carry  about  sums  like  that." 

Deane  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  drew  out  a 
little  roll  of  notes.  "  I  have  twelve  ten-pound  notes  here," 
he  said,  "and  I  can  write  a  cheque  for  the  balance.  You 


A  DESPAIRING   CALL  303 

know  what  I  want.  If  you  turn  me  away,  I  shall  be  back 
with  a  search  warrant  in  less  than  half-an-hour." 

She  held  out  her  hand  for  the  notes.  "Follow  me," 
she  said.  "You  understand  that  I  am  simply  a  lodging- 
house  keeper.  I  cannot  be  responsible  for  my  tenants  or 
their  actions." 

"  I  understand  that,"  Deane  answered  eagerly.  "  Quick ! 
Lead  the  way  upstairs. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WINIFRED    IS    TRAPPED 

DEANE  followed  his  guide  up  two  flights  of  stairs,  — 
on  the  landing  of  the  third  she  paused. 

"I  do  not  usually  interfere  with  the  comings  and  goings 
of  my  lodgers,"  she  said.  "They  pay  for  their  rooms. 
That  is  all  I  ask.  You  see  the  door  opposite  you?" 

"Yes!"  Deane  answered  quickly. 

"That  room  is  tenanted  by  a  young  woman  who  called 
herself  Montague,  but  received  letters  under  the  name  of 
Sinclair.  She  had  a  visitor  this  afternoon  who  might  be 
the  young  person  of  whom  you  are  in  search.  You  had 
better  go  in  and  see." 

Deane  was  across  the  landing  in  a  moment.  He  tapped 
sharply  upon  the  door.  There  was  no  answer.  He  tried 
the  handle.  The  door  was  locked ! 

"Open  the  door,"  he  cried  out,  shaking  it  vigorously. 

There  was  no  answer.  To  Deane  the  silence  was  omi- 
nous. He  turned  to  the  woman  who  stood  silently  by  his 
side,  with  a  fierce  little  exclamation.  "Where  is  the  tele- 
phone?" he  demanded. 


WINIFRED    IS   TRAPPED  305 

"Inside  there,"  she  answered.  "It  used  to  be  my 
sitting-room." 

"The  door  is  locked!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  do  not  understand  it,"  she  admitted. 

"Have  you  another  key?" 

"No!" 

He  flung  himself  at  the  door,  tearing  it  half  from  its 
hinges.  Another  assault,  and  with  a  tearing  of  splinters 
it  fell  inside.  Deane  stepped  over  it  into  the  room,  and 
a  low  cry  of  anger  broke  from  his  lips.  The  woman  at 
his  side  fled  shrieking  downstairs.  On  the  floor  lay 
Winifred  Rowan,  her  limbs  bound  with  cords,  a  gag  in 
her  mouth,  her  clothing  all  dishevelled,  her  eyes  shining 
with  an  almost  painful  intensity  from  her  ashen  gray 
face.  Deane  fell  on  his  knees  by  her  side. 

"Winifred!"   he  exclaimed.    "My  God!" 

He  snatched  his  knife  from  his  pocket,  removed  the  gag 
from  her  mouth,  and  cut  all  her  bonds.  Her  hands  tried 
nervously  to  rearrange  her  dress  over  her  bosom.  He  tore 
off  his  own  coat  and  threw  it  over  her. 

"Are  you  badly  hurt?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"I  am  not  hurt  much,"  she  answered  weakly,  "but  — 

"But  what?"  he  demanded. 

She  commenced  to  cry  softly  but  insistently.  Black 
fear  rose  up  to  torture  him.  "But  what?"  he  repeated, 
with  sinking  heart. 


306  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"It  has  gone!"  she  murmured,  crossing  her  hands 
upon  her  bosom. 

"  What  has  gone  ?  "  he  asked.     "  Quick ! " 

"The  deed!"  she  whispered.  "Don't  look  at  me  like 
that.  I  could  n't  help  it.  It  was  a  trap,  of  course,  to  get 
me  here,  and  I  was  a  fool.  The  letter  was  from  you,  but 
I  ought  to  have  known  that  it  was  a  forgery.  I  was  taken 
unawares.  She  was  like  a  madwoman.  She  would  have 
torn  the  clothes  from  my  body.  I  struggled.  I  called 
out.  It  was  no  use.  She  has  taken  it  away." 

"But  you  are  not  hurt?"   he  exclaimed  anxiously. 

"I  —  no!"  she  answered,  a  little  vacantly.  "But  it 
is  gone !  I  was  not  fit  to  be  trusted  with  it.  I  ought  to 
have  given  it  up  to  you." 

She  was  very  pale,  and  he  was  afraid  of  her  fainting. 
He  summoned  the  landlady  once  more.  She  was  waiting 
on  the  stairs  close  by. 

"Something  very  serious  has  happened  here,"  he  said, 
sternly.  "This  young  lady  has  been  assaulted  and  robbed." 

"I'm  sure  I'm  very  sorry,"  the  woman  declared. 
"You  can't  blame  any  of  us,  though.  I  never  heard  a 
sound,  no  more  did  Hilda,  and  I  can't  prevent  my  lodgers 
having  visitors." 

"We  won't  discuss  it,"  Deane  said  sharply.  "But  if 
this  is  Miss  Montague's  room,  — 

"It  isn't,"  the  woman  interrupted.     "It's  my  sitting- 


WINIFRED    IS   TRAPPED  307 

room.  Miss  Montague  has  only  an  attic,  and  she  came 
to  me  and  said  that  she  could  n't  receive  a  visitor  there, 
and  asked  me  to  lend  her  my  room  for  a  few  minutes." 

Deane  nodded.  "The  other  rooms  on  this  floor  are  un- 
occupied, of  course,"  he  said.  "  Oh !  it 's  quite  easy  to 
understand.  I  don't  need  to  ask  you  any  more  questions. 
I  don't  want  any  more  explanations.  If  you  want  to  keep 
this  out  of  the  police  court,  you  will  do  exactly  as  I  tell 
you." 

"Yes!"   she  exclaimed  eagerly.    "I  will  do  anything." 

"Send  your  servant  for  a  cab,"  Deane  said,  "and 
arrange  this  young  lady's  dress  so  that  I  can  take  her 
home." 

"I  will  fetch  her  a  bodice  of  my  own,"  declared  the 
woman,  hurrying  off. 

Winifred  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  was  sitting  in  an 
easy-chair.  She  was  leaning  forward,  with  her  face  half 
buried  in  her  hands.  Deane  turned  towards  her. 

"Winifred  —  " 

She  avoided  his  gaze.  "Don't!"  she  begged.  "Please 
don't  talk  to  me.  I  can't  bear  it." 

"  But  I  may  say  —  "  he  began. 

"No!"  she  interrupted,  almost  fiercely.  "Please  say 
nothing.  I  mean  it.  I  cannot  bear  to  talk!  I  cannot 
bear  to  be  talked  to ! " 

A  little  throb  of  anger  darkened  his  face.    She  had  not 


308  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

even  common  gratitude  for  her  rescue !  She  had  but  one 
thought,  one  regret,  —  the  loss  of  that  future  of  luxury 
to  attain  which  she  had  bound  herself  to  him.  A  curious 
anger  burned  in  his  blood,  —  a  pain  which  he  could  not 
analyze  shook  his  heart.  Then  there  came  the  sound  of 
voices  on  the  stairs,  feminine  voices  raised  in  anger !  The 
door  was  burst  open.  Ruby  stood  there  upon  the  thresh- 
old, looking  in  upon  them,  her  lips  curved  in  an  ugly 
smile  of  triumph,  her  eyes  ablaze.  Behind  her  stood  the 
landlady,  a  black  bodice  in  her  hand,  her  forehead  wrinkled 
in  a  deprecating  frown. 

"So  you've  found  her,  have  you?"  Ruby  exclaimed, 
her  face  turned  towards  Deane,  her  finger  outstretched  to 
where  Winifred  sat  shrinking  back  in  her  chair.  "Thieves, 
both  of  you!  Thieves!  Thieves!" 

Deane  pointed  to  Winifred's  torn  clothing.  "  And  that  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"It  was  restitution,"  the  girl  declared  fiercely.  "The 
deed  was  mine !  Your  millions  are  mine !  She  stole  it 
for  you  —  her  brother  was  a  murderer  for  you !  How 
do  you  think  the  story  will  look  in  the  newspapers,  eh? 
Inciting  to  murder  and  theft !  Is  n't  that  a  crime  ?  Swin- 
dlers, both  of  you ! "  she  cried  passionately.  "  You  'd  have 
kept  me  a  beggar,  eh,"  she  cried  to  Winifred,  "while  you 
clad  your  poor  body  in  silks  and  laces,  covered  yourself 
with  jewels  and  made  him  marry  you?  And  I  was  to 


WINIFRED   IS  TRAPPED  309 

starve !  —  to  starve  or  worse !  Well,  we  '11  see !  We  '11 
see!" 

"Young  lady,"  Deane  said  calmly,  "you  are  being  led 
away  by  your  imagination.  You  have  taken  a  paper 
away  from  Miss  Rowan  which  you  seem  to  think  is  going 
to  turn  out  a  sort  of  El  Dorado.  It  is  n't  worth  the  paper 
it 's  written  on." 

"It 's  a  lie!"  the  girl  shrieked.  "I  've  taken  it  to  the 
lawyers.  It  is  genuine  —  they  all  say  so." 

Deane  almost  lifted  Winifred  from  her  chair.  "That 
remains  to  be  seen,"  he  declared. 

"In  any  case,  it  was  stolen!"  she  cried.  "That  young 
woman  there  has  got  to  say  how  it  came  into  her  possession, 
and  what  she  meant  by  going  around  with  it  sewn  into  her 
bodice!  Oh,  you  needn't  try  to  dupe  me!"  she  cried. 
"I  want  my  money  —  God  knows  how  I  want  it!  And 
I  mean  to  make  her  suffer,  too ! "  she  added,  pointing  to 
Winifred.  "  She  's  a  thief !  She  's  lived  in  luxury  while 
I  've  starved ;  —  she  's  worn  the  clothes  of  a  princess  while 
I  've  gone  in  rags !  But  she  shall  pay !  My  God,  she  shall 
pay!" 

Deane,  with  Winifred  by  his  side,  had  reached  the 
door.  "I  am  afraid,"  he  said  turning  to  the  girl,  who  was 
still  regarding  them  with  breathless  anger,  "that  you 
have  let  your  imagination  run  away  with  you  a  good 
deal.  A  dose  of  the  law  courts  will  do  you  no  harm.  If 


310  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

you  care  for  a  word  of  warning  from  me,  you  can  have  it : 
don't  build  your  hopes  too  much  upon  that  paper!" 

"  We  shall  see  1 "  she  cried  fiercely.  "  You  can't  frighten 
me !  If  the  paper  is  of  no  value,  why  did  she  steal  it,  why 
did  she  carry  it  sewn  in  her  clothes  ?  If  you  — 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Her  eyes  rested  upon 
Deane,  her  expression  softened.  "If  you  want  to  make 
terms  —  "  she  began. 

He  turned  away.     "Come,  Winifred,"  he  said. 

In  the  cab  they  scarcely  spoke.  She  had  the  air  of  a 
person  utterly  exhausted,  —  indifferent  to  anything  that 
might  happen. 

"Tell  me,"  he  asked,  soon  after  they  started,  "what 
made  you  go  to  that  house?" 

"The  letter  from  you,"  she  answered.  "I  was  a  fool, 
of  course,  but  I  went.  It  does  n't  matter,  does  it?" 

"I  suppose  not,"  he  answered. 

The  despair  in  her  face  nerved  him  to  further  speech. 
"I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  worrying  about  that 
deed  —  or  rather  the  loss  of  it.  I  am  sorry  that  I  came 
too  late,  but  it  could  n't  be  helped.  You  did  all  that  you 
could !  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"Of  course!"  she  interposed  impatiently.  "And  I 
have  failed!  That  is  the  end  of  it!" 

He   looked   out   of   the   window,    looked   with    stern, 


WINIFRED  IS  TRAPPED  311 

unseeing  eyes  upon  the  passing  people.  The  sun  had 
ceased  to  shine,  his  heart  was  heavy  as  lead.  He  seemed 
suddenly  to  realize  the  reason  of  her  dejection.  She  be- 
lieved in  the  deed.  She  believed  that  he  was  indeed  a 
pauper.  It  was  for  the  wreck  of  her  hopes  that  she  was 
lamenting.  The  rest  went  for  nothing.  He  was  a  poor 
man  —  no  longer  of  any  interest  to  her !  His  manner 
unconsciously  stiffened  as  the  thought  came  rushing  home 
to  him.  He  drew  away  from  her,  and  he  remained  silent 
until  the  cab  stopped  in  front  of  her  hotel.  She  stepped 
out  quickly,  and  almost  ran  across  the  pavement. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  as  though 
to  prevent  his  following. 

He  bowed  and  turned  away.  Her  deshabille  was  with- 
out doubt  an  embarrassment.  Already  he  was  beginning 
to  find  excuses  for  her.  Nevertheless,  he  watched  the 
slim,  swaying  figure,  as  the  doors  closed  upon  her,  with 
something  of  apprehension.  Was  it  ominous  that  she 
should  pass  away  without  a  backward  glance  ?  Was  she  in- 
deed nothing  but  an  adventuress,  deprived  of  her  prey  ?  .  .  . 

He  paid  the  cab  and  walked  slowly  back  to  his  rooms. 
His  solicitor  had  already  rung  up.  Two  of  his  directors 
were  waiting  to  see  him,  a  reporter  buttonholed  him  upon 
the  pavement.  From  all  of  which  things  Deane  knew  that 
Ruby  Sinclair  had  lost  no  time,  that  the  first  note  of  battle 
had  been  sounded ! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MISS  SINCLAIR'S  OFFER 

MISS  ROWAN  had  left  two  hours  ago,  and  had 
taken  all  her  luggage  and  paid  her  bill.  Ap- 
parently she  had  no  idea  of  returning,  —  at  any  rate,  she 
had  not  reserved  any  rooms.  The  hall-porter  of  the  little 
hotel  looked  at  Deane  with  some  curiosity  as  he  answered 
his  rapid  questions.  The  manageress  came  rustling  out 
of  her  office  and  beamed  on  Deane,  who  had  once  stayed 
there  for  several  weeks.  She  confirmed  the  information 
which  he  had  already  received,  and  supplemented  it  with 
a  few  further  details. 

"Miss  Rowan  paid  her  bill?"  Deane  asked. 

'Certainly,  sir,"  the  manageress  answered.  "Miss 
Rowan  was  exceedingly  particular  about  paying  her 
accounts  the  moment  they  were  presented." 

"And  she  left  no  message?"   Deane  asked. 

"None  at  all,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

He  noticed  the  gleam  of  curiosity  in  her  eyes,  and 
promptly  altered  his  tactics.  "Thank  you  very  much," 
he  said,  turning  away.  "I  quite  understood  that  Miss 


MISS  SINCLAIR'S  OFFER  313 

Rowan  was  not  leaving  until  this  afternoon.  My  mistake, 
I  daresay.  By  the  bye,  have  you  any  instructions  with 
regard  to  letters?" 

"None,"  the  manageress  replied.  "If  any  come,  we 
shall  keep  them  until  we  hear  from  her." 

Deane  turned  away  and  reentered  his  brougham.  "I 
shall  find  a  note  at  my  rooms,  I  daresay,"  he  remarked. 
"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Merrygold." 

His  words  were  prophetic.  He  called  at  his  rooms  on 
his  way  to  the  club  for  lunch,  and  found  a  note  there 
addressed  to  him  in  Winifred's  handwriting: 

Wednesday  morning. 

You  will  understand,  of  course,  that  this  is  the  end. 
The  jewels  which  you  gave  me  I  have  returned  to-day  by 
registered  post.  One  ring  I  have  kept.  It  is,  I  think,  the 
least  valuable  of  any,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  part  with  it. 
If  you  insist,  however,  it  is  always  at  your  disposal. 

I  am  going  back  where  I  belong  —  to  the  world  which  I 
should  never  have  quitted.  Everything  has  been  a  great 
mistake.  Please  understand  that  you  are  absolutely  and 
entirely  free  in  every  way.  I  only  trust  that  I  may  live 
long  enough  to  atone  in  some  measure  for  my  folly. 

WINIFRED   ROWAN. 

Deane  read  this  letter  over  a  dozen  times.  One  thing 
alone  seemed  clear.  She  had  deserted  him.  She  had  not 


314  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

even  waited  for  the  final  issue.  She  had  fled  from  the 
sinking  ship  with  a  haste  almost  indecent.  She  had  made 
no  terms,  suggested  no  compromise.  Deane,  when  he 
thought  the  whole  matter  over,  was  still  puzzled.  Such 
precipitancy  was  not  logical.  If  his  hand  was  no  longer 
strong  enough  to  open  the  gates  of  the  promised  land,  it 
could  at  least  have  lifted  her  up  from  the  miseries  of  her 
past  life.  He  found  himself,  after  a  study  of  her  few  lines, 
curiously  depressed.  She  had  gone  —  willingly  —  appar- 
ently without  regret  except  for  her  wasted  opportunities. 
He  felt  an  emptiness  in  his  life  which  he  failed  to  under- 
stand. There  had  been  nothing  of  the  sort  when  Lady 
Olive  had  held  out  her  hand  and  bidden  him  farewell. 
Was  he  getting  sentimental  ?  He  set  his  teeth.  Absurd ! 
It  was  an  episode  happily  concluded !  Outside  there  was 
thunder  in  the  air  —  a  storm  for  him  to  face !  .  .  . 

His  solicitor  did  not  beat  about  the  bush.  "  In  the  face 
of  that  document,  Mr.  Deane,"  he  said,  "the  Treasury 
do  not  propose  to  proceed  with  the  prosecution  of  Hefferom. 
Its  existence,  of  course,  throws  altogether  a  different  light 
upon  the  whole  situation,  whatever  may  be  its  exact  legal 
worth.  Hefferom  was  simply  engaged  upon  a  task  of 
compromise.  He  had  something  solid  behind  him.  There 
is  not  a  shadow  of  evidence  against  him." 

"Very  well,"  said  Deane,  "let  Hefferom  go.  I  confess 
that  when  I  sent  to  Scotland  Yard  I  never  anticipated 


MISS  SINCLAIR'S   OFFER  315 

that  this  particular  document  would  ever  come  into 
evidence." 

"You  knew  of  its  existence?"   the  lawyer  asked. 

"Sinclair  himself  showed  it  to  me,"  Deane  answered 
calmly.  "So  far  as  Sinclair  himself  was  concerned  the 
affair  was  a  swindle,  for  it  was  he  who  recommended  me 
to  jump  the  claim  —  said  he  thought  that  there  was  some 
stuff  there,  but  he  had  no  money  to  work  it.  I  let  him  off 
a  hundred  pounds  he  owed  me,  and  took  his  advice.  But 
that  is  ancient  history.  The  mine  is  my  property  all  right 
—  or  rather  it  was." 

Mr.  Hardaway  listened  with  a  grave  face.  "Deane," 
he  said,  "I  hope  and  believe  that  you  may  be  speaking 
the  truth,  but  the  original  deed  is  in  the  hands  of  un- 
scrupulous people.  We  had  a  notification  this  afternoon 
that  a  suit  is  about  to  be  commenced  against  your  cor- 
poration." 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  Deane  answered.  "We'll 
know  where  we  are,  at  any  rate.  I  claim  that  by  the 
statute  laws  of  the  country  that  claim  was  forfeit.  If  it 
was  not,  then  the  inducing  me  to  sink  capital  and  work 
the  claim  was  a  damnable  conspiracy." 

"Your  corporation  fight  with  you,  of  course?"  the 
lawyer  asked. 

"Of  course,"  Deane  answered.  "What  else  could  they 
do?  We  fight  to  the  end!" 


316  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

That  night,  shares  in  the  Incorporated  Gold-Mines 
Association  stood  at  90.  At  closing  time  the  following 
day  they  stood  at  74.  A  few  lines  in  the  paper  had  done 
it.  An  action  had  been  started  by  Hefferom,  and  the 
legatees  of  the  estate  of  the  late  Richard  Sinclair,  claiming 
as  their  property  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine.  The  thing 
had  been  talked  about  for  some  time,  but  now  that  it  had 
actually  occurred,  people  seemed  none  the  less  staggered. 
The  city  believed  in  Stirling  Deane  —  it  had  believed  in 
him  so  implicitly  that  in  its  heart  it  had  never  placed  any 
faith  in  this  cloud  of  rumors.  Yet  there  it  was  now  in 
black  and  white.  It  was  no  longer  possible  to  speak  of 
compromise.  The  matter  was  to  be  fought  out  in  the  open 
courts,  and  failure  could  spell  nothing  but  ruin  to  one  of 
the  richest  corporations  in  London.  Deane's  photograph 
was  in  all  the  papers  —  also  the  menu  of  a  famous  dinner 
which  he  gave  to  his  directors.  He  sent  a  cheque  for  five 
thousand  pounds  to  a  hospital,  and  was  reported  to  be 
going  on  the  turf.  The  lawsuit  he  treated  everywhere  as 
a  joke.  He  was  careful  always  to  wear  the  usual  bunch 
of  violets  in  his  buttonhole,  and  to  affect  something  of 
the  dandy  in  his  attire.  His  personal  demeanor  kept  his 
shares  at  least  ten  points  higher  than  they  would  other- 
wise have  been. 

But  Deane,  nevertheless,  was  in  hell !  He  was  badgered 
by  his  directors,  worried  by  his  lawyers,  and  underneath 


MISS   SINCLAIR'S   OFFER  317 

it  all,  and  apart  from  his  financial  responsibilities,  he  was 
suffering  from  a  sense  of  personal  loss,  a  wound  whose 
pain  left  him  but  little  peace.  He  never  stopped  to  ad- 
mit to  himself  exactly  what  his  suffering  was.  He  sat  for 
hours  lost  in  thought,  and  his  thoughts  were  always  of 
that  pale  lady  of  his  dreams  who  had  stolen  so  abruptly 
from  his  arms,  the  girl  who  had  played  for  a  few  weeks 
so  strange  a  part  in  his  life.  He  tried  to  find  what  had 
become  of  her,  but  in  vain;  she  seemed  to  have  com- 
pletely vanished.  He  puzzled  over  her  behavior  until 
the  lines  in  his  face  grew  set  and  hard.  Was  she  indeed 
ingrate  —  ready  to  abandon  her  strange  bargain  at  the 
first  whisper  of  disaster  ?  Or  had  she  some  other  reason  ? 
He  had  accepted  her  terms  because  of  the  power  which 
she  held  —  what  if,  at  the  loss  of  that  power,  she  had 
taken  it  for  granted  that  their  bargain  was  cancelled,  and 
had  hurried  away  to  avoid  the  shame  of  dismissal  from 
him!  It  was  just  what  she  would  do  —  perhaps  just 
what  she  had  done! 

Deane  was  careful,  during  these  days  of  probation,  to 
attend  at  his  office  regularly,  and  to  shrink  from  none  of 
his  customary  duties.  One  afternoon  his  clerk  brought 
him  in  a  card. 

"A  young  lady  to  see  you,  sir!"  he  announced. 

Deane's  heart  gave  a  jump,  the  blood  rushed  through 
his  veins,  he  was  scarcely  able  to  read  the  card  which  he 


318  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

had  taken  into  his  fingers  with  well-affected  carelessness. 
Then  the  pain  came,  the  black  disappointment  which 
seemed  to  turn  his  heart  into  a  stone.  It  was  not  she !  He 
found  it  hard  to  take  any  interest  in  this  caller,  and  yet 
he  felt  that  her  coming  was  significant. 

Miss  Ruby  Sinclair. 

"You  can  show  the  young  lady  in, Gray,"  Deane  ordered. 

When  she  arrived,  Deane  scarcely  knew  her.  She  was 
expensively  dressed  from  head  to  foot.  She  carried  her- 
self with  an  assurance  which  was  almost  overdone.  The 
fashion  of  her  dress  and  hat  were  certainly  not  chosen 
with  a  view  to  being  overlooked.  She  was  very  modern  — 
she  reminded  him  exactly  of  a  young  lady  in  a  musical 
comedy  with  whom  he  had  once  had  a  slight  acquaintance. 
He  would  scarcely  have  been  surprised  had  he  found,  when 
she  lifted  her  veil,  that  her  eyebrows  were  blackened. 

"You  didn't  expect  to  see  me,  of  course,"  she  said, 
holding  his  hand  for  a  moment,  and  looking  at  him  stead- 
fastly. "  May  I  sit  down  ?  " 

"Of  course,"  he  answered. 

She  chose  the  easy-chair,  and  crossed  her  legs  with  a 
good  deal  of  rustle  and  a  considerable  display  of  black 
silk  stocking. 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  "Are  you  still  angry  with 
me?"  she  asked. 


MISS  SINCLAIR'S   OFFER  319 

"Well,  I  don't  usually  bear  malice,"  he  answered,  "but 
I  can  scarcely  forgive  your  method  of  dealing  with  Miss 
Rowan!" 

"  Or  its  results  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  Well, 
I  came  out  on  the  top,  anyhow,  and  you  must  remember, 
Mr.  Deane,  that  I  was  desperate,  —  you  don't  know  how 
desperate,"  she  continued,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "I 
had  n't  a  shilling  left  in  the  world !  —  not  a  shilling !  — 
not  a  friend !  And  somewhere  in  London  there  was 
wealth  that  belonged  to  me!" 

"That,"  Deane  remarked  dryly,  "is  a  matter  which 
is  as  yet  undecided." 

"Well,  I  judge  by  facts,"  she  answered  with  a  little 
laugh.  "Lawyers  don't  usually  throw  money  away,  do 
they  ?  They  're  willing  to  advance  me  all  I  want  on  the 
security  of  the  Little  Anna  Gold-Mine." 

Deane  smiled  upon  her  genially.  "My  mine,"  he 
remarked. 

"No!"  she  declared, —  "the  property  of  the  legatees  of 
Richard  Sinclair!" 

Deane  shook  his  head.  "My  dear  young  lady,"  he 
said,  "you  were  more  in  your  element  when  you  walked 
bareheaded  upon  the  sands  of  Rakney,  and  saved  me 
from  a  wetting,  than  in  your  present  pose." 

"And  you,"  she  declared,  "were  nicer  to  me,  a  great 
dealj  for  those  few  days." 


320  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

"Naturally,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "How  can  I  be 
particularly  amiable  to  a  young  lady  who  is  trying  to  ruin 
me?" 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly.  In  her  fashionable  attire 
she  presented,  indeed,  a  very  different  appearance  from 
the  eager,  brown-skinned  girl,  with  the  shapely  limbs  and 
delightful  carriage,  whom  he  had  first  seen  at  Rakney. 
Yet  he  fancied  that  she  was  trying  to  reawaken  his  earlier 
impressions  of  her,  —  innocent  of  vanity  as  he  was,  he 
could  not  misunderstand  her  appealing  gaze ! 

"I  do  not  want  to  ruin  you,"  she  declared.  "I  do  not 
want  to  do  anything  of  the  sort.  Is  n't  there  enough  for 
both  of  us?  Why  should  we  fight?" 

He  sighed.  "How  can  we  compromise?"  he  asked. 
"The  mine  does  not  belong  to  me  any  longer.  I  sold  it 
years  ago  to  the  Incorporated  Gold-Mines  Association." 

"You  could  not  sell  what  did  n't  belong  to  you,"  she 
objected. 

"They  paid  me  the  money  for  it,  at  any  rate,"  he 
answered. 

"If  I  win,"  she  asked,  "who  will  lose  the  money?" 

"The  Incorporated  Gold-Mines  Association,"  he  an- 
swered, "but  they  would  have  a  claim  upon  me.  I  sup- 
pose, eventually,  that  I  should." 

She  held  out  her  hand  —  no  longer  brown  and  stained 
with  seaweed,  but  delicately  gloved,  perfumed,  elegant. 


MISS   SINCLAIR'S   OFFER  321 

"Let  us  be  friends,"  she  said.  "I  am  sorry  I  was  rough 
to  your  little  ally !  I  could  n't  help  it.  She  was  in  my 
way.  I  chose  the  only  means.  We  need  n't  consider  her, 
-  you  and  I  are  different  sort  of  people.  We  know  what 
we  want.  I  am  not  only  a  money  grubber.  I  want  the 
rest  of  life,  the  whole  thing,  —  the  music,  the  poetry,  the 
passion !  Remember  my  wretched,  starved  existence ! 
Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  on  fire  to  pass  on  to  the  other 
things.  It  isn't  the  money  —  your  money  or  any  one 
else's !  I  want  life !  I  want  the  wine  and  the  spices  !  I 
want  the  dregs !  Can't  you  understand  ?  You  must !  — 
you  must!" 

Her  passionate  eyes  sought  his,  her  body  swayed  towards 
him.  Deane  looked  downwards  upon  his  blotter.  In  the 
outer  office  he  could  hear  the  clicking  of  typewriters,  the 
subdued  murmur  of  voices.  Through  the  half-opened 
window  came  floating  in  the  everlasting  chorus,  —  the 
falling  footsteps  upon  the  pavement,  the  jingling  of  han- 
som bells,  the  far-off  roar  of  the  heavier  traffic.  All  these 
things  seemed  to  him  curiously  unreal.  He  was  conscious 
only  of  the  intensity  of  the  moment,  the  pleading  of  her 
eyes,  the  warm  breath  upon  his  cheeks.  He  heard 
the  rustling  of  her  skirts.  He  felt  that  she  was 
rising  from  her  chair.  Then  he  braced  himself  for  his 
effort. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  —  "if  you  really  want 


322  THE   GOLDEN  WEB 

to  compromise  —  for  a  moderate  amount  —  I  will  send 
for  my  lawyer.  We  cannot  arrange  this  thing  by  our- 
selves." 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  but  for  a  moment  she  was  speech- 
less.   When  he  looked  at  her  face,  he  found  it  almost  un- 
recognizable.    She  dropped  her  veil  quickly,  but  from 
behind  it  the  flash  of  her  eyes  was  in  itself  a  threat. 
"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  lamely.    "  I  hope  you  understand." 
She  turned  to  the  door,  and  passed  out  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THROUGH    THE    MILL 

DEANE  stood  at  last  on  the  other  side  of  those  long, 
dragging  months  of  unspeakable  weariness.  Day 
after  day,  in  the  close  atmosphere  of  the  Courts,  week 
after  week  of  what  seemed  to  him  unnecessary  repetitions 
and  delays,  —  so  the  great  machine  of  the  law  moved  on 
its  slow  and  stately  way,  and  the  case  of  Sinclair  v.  The 
Incorporated  Gold-Mines  Association  crept  on  toward 
the  end.  One  thing  at  least  Deane  had  gained.  His 
examination  and  cross-examination  —  and  he  was  in  the 
witness  box  altogether  for  nearly  two  days  —  failed  to 
reveal  a  single  weak  joint  in  the  armor  of  his  truthfulness. 
His  story  was  consistent  and  honorable  throughout.  He 
was  able  to  prove  the  payment  to  Sinclair,  to  prove  Sin- 
clair's suggestion  that  he  should  have  a  try  at  the  mine. 
At  the  end  of  the  case,  one  thing  remained  certain,  and 
that  was  that  morally  speaking  the  mine  was  Deane's 
when  he  had  sold  it  to  the  Corporation.  Yet  behind  it 
all  there  were  those  title-deeds,  with  which  Sinclair  had 
never  parted,  and  which  now  formed  the  backbone  of 


324  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

this  present  suit.  The  more  sensational  part  of  the  case, 
too,  concerning  which  there  had  been  endless  rumors, 
collapsed  immediately. 

"Is  it  not  true  that  Sinclair  paid  you  a  visit  at  your 
offices  a  few  days  before  his  murder  ? "  counsel  asked. 

"Certainly!"  Deane  answered. 

"Will  you  tell  us  what  transpired  at  that  interview?" 

"Well,  it  scarcely  amounted  to  an  interview,"  Deane 
answered  composedly.  "The  man  was  drunk,  and  I 
found  him  offensive.  He  brandished  the  document  at 
me  on  which  the  present  case  is  founded,  and  I  suspected 
him  of  an  attempt  at  blackmail.  I  had  him  thrown 
out." 

"Yet  a  few  days  afterwards  you  commissioned  Rowan 
—  the  man  who  murdered  Sinclair  — -  to  obtain  that  docu- 
ment from  him,"  counsel  said,  amidst  some  sensation. 

"Scarcely  that,"  Deane  answered.  "Rowan,  who  had 
been  a  friend  of  mine  in  South  Africa,  and  was  a  man  of 
an  altogether  different  stamp  than  Sinclair,  called  upon 
me  a  few  days  later.  I  told  him  the  circumstances." 

"You  incited  him  to  procure  that  document  from  Sin- 
clair," counsel  declared. 

"I  cannot  admit  that,"  Deane  answered.  "I  told  him 
that  I  had  declined  to  be  blackmailed  by  Sinclair,  but  that 
after  all  I  would  prefer  to  pay  a  reasonable  sum  of  money 
for  the  document  in  question.  Rowan  had  been  on  more 


THROUGH  THE   MILL  325 

friendly  terms  with  Sinclair  than  any  of  us,  and  I  thought 
that  he  might  induce  him  to  listen  to  reason." 

"If  the  document  was  valueless,  why  should  you  bother 
about  it?" 

"I  'm  afraid  that  you  don't  know  much  about  the 
mining  world,"  Deane  replied  amiably.  "Any  preju- 
dicial report,  however  malicious,  however  false,  affects 
the  market,  and  one  must  always  consider  one's  stock- 
holders." 

"Very  well,  then,"  counsel  said,  "we  come  to  this.  You 
deputed  Rowan  to  see  what  he  could  do  with  Sinclair. 
Do  you  realize  your  responsibility  in  this  matter?  You 
are  aware  of  what  happened?" 

"Certainly,"  Deane  answered.  "I  shall  never  cease  to 
regret  it.  Sinclair  was  mad  drunk  and  the  two  men 
quarrelled.  The  blow  which  killed  him  was  struck  in 
self-defence." 

"The  law  did  not  take  that  view." 

"  I  stood  by  Rowan  when  he  died,"  Deane  said,  with  a 
sudden  note  of  solemnity  in  his  tone.  "He  told  me  the 
truth  then,  and  the  truth  is  what  I  have  told  you." 

"Nevertheless,  he  stole  the  document,"  counsel  con- 
tinued. "It  was  discovered  afterwards  in  the  possession 
of  Miss  Rowan." 

"So  I  have  heard,"  Deane  answered  calmly.  "It  was 
a  pity  that  she  did  not  hand  it  over  to  me." 


326  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"You  would  have  destroyed  it,  I  suppose?" 

"Most  certainly!"  Deane  answered.  "The  mine  be- 
longed to  me.  Sinclair  had  declared  before  witnesses  that 
there  were  no  papers,  that  the  claim  had  not  been  worked 
for  the  requisite  time;  and,  therefore,  by  the  mining  laws 
of  the  country  my  purchase  was  good." 

The  case  lasted  well  over  the  Christmas  recess.  During 
the  holidays,  Deane  spent  a  good  part  of  his  time  seeking 
for  some  trace  of  Winifred  Rowan.  He  went  himself  to 
her  old  employers,  but  they  were  able  to  tell  him  nothing. 
They  could  only  show  him  the  testimonial  which  they  had 
written  at  her  request,  and  which  she  had  taken  away 
with  her  a  few  days  after  her  departure  from  the  hotel. 
There  was  no  one  who  seemed  able  to  help  him  in  the 
least.  Very  regretfully,  he  called  in  the  services  of  a 
private  detective,  who,  however,  was  equally  unsuccessful. 
The  holidays  passed,  the  case  was  reopened,  and  Deane 
was  once  more  immersed  in  the  struggle.  .  .  . 

It  was  over  at  last.  The  strain  remained,  —  the  great 
judge  who  had  heard  it  declined  to  pronounce  judgment 
immediately  on  the  conclusion  of  the  pleadings.  It  might 
be  three  days  or  it  might  be  even  a  week  before  his  decision 
was  known.  Deane  turned  away  from  the  court  with  a 
strong  and  instinctive  desire  for  solitude.  The  suspense, 
long  drawn  out  through  the  weeks  and  through  the  months, 
had  become  unbearable.  He  felt  himself  no  longer  able 


THROUGH  THE   MILL  327 

calmly  to  discuss  the  pros  and  the  cons  of  the  case  with 
his  fellow  directors  and  friends.  He  was  sick  to  heart  of 
it  all.  He  escaped  from  one  or  two  passers-by,  and  a 
reporter  or  so  who  tried  to  buttonhole  him,  and  ignoring 
his  brougham,  around  which  several  others  were  waiting, 
he  sprang  into  a  hansom  and  drove  to  the  garage  where 
he  kept  his  touring  car.  A  few  brief  orders,  a  pencilled 
note  to  his  servant,  and  Deane,  leaving  the  garage  by  the 
other  entrance,  took  the  Tube  to  its  terminus,  walked  out 
into  the  country,  and  was  caught  up  within  an  hour  by 
the  car,  in  which  his  servant  was  sitting  on  the  front  seat 
by  the  side  of  the  chauffeur. 

The  evening  passed  swiftly  into  night  as  they  thundered 
up  the  great  north  road  into  the  darkness.  Deane,  wrapped 
in  his  thick  coat  and  rugs,  leaned  back  in  his  seat,  with 
both  windows  down,  feeling  an  inexpressible  relief  in  the 
sharp  sting  of  the  night  air,  the  flakes  of  snow  and  little 
clouds  of  rain  blown  every  now  and  then  through  the  open 
windows.  He  was  free  at  last  from  the  hateful  environ- 
ment of  the  last  few  months.  No  longer  was  there  anyone 
to  point  him  out  as  the  man  who  had  sold  for  a  million 
pounds  a  mine  which  had  never  belonged  to  him.  Save 
for  the  two  motionless  figures  in  front,  he  was  alone. 
There  was  no  one  to  ask  him  wearisome  questions,  no  one 
to  offer  him  sympathy  or  wish  him  good-fortune.  On 
they  sped  through  the  night,  till  the  villages  were  like 


328  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

dead  haunts,  without  a  light  in  the  windows,  and  only  an 
occasional  lamp-post  to  mark  the  place  where  men  slum- 
bered. They  passed  through  a  town,  which  was  like  a 
city  of  the  dead,  and  on  again  to  the  wilder  country,  where 
the  rabbits  rushed,  terrified,  before  the  streaming  lights 
of  the  car,  and  the  wind  alone,  of  all  Nature's  voices, 
seemed  left  to  remind  him  that  this  was  not  a  world  of 
ghosts  through  which  he  rushed. 

Presently  he  saw  the  man  at  the  wheel  swerve  a  little 
in  his  seat,  and  he  lifted  the  speaking-tube  to  his  lips. 
"Can  we  get  through  to  Rakney,  Murray,"  he  asked 
him,  "or  shall  we  stop  at  King's  Lynn?" 

"  We  can  get  through,  sir,"  the  man  replied,  "  if  we  can 
rest  for  half-an-hour  somewhere." 

They  knocked  up  an  inn-keeper  in  King's  Lynn,  and 
the  two  men  ate  and  drank.  Deane  himself  drank  a  long 
whiskey  and  soda,  and  lit  a  cigar.  Then  they  rushed  on- 
ward into  the  darkness,  already  lightening  a  little  in  the 
east.  Dawn  was  breaking  as  they  climbed  their  last  hill 
and  ran  down  toward  the  marshlands.  A  red  light  loomed 
over  the  gray,  sullen  sea.  The  marshes  themselves  seemed 
heavy  and  undistinguishable  —  patches  of  land  and  dark 
creeks  of  salt-water  running  into  one  another.  Out  in  the 
bay  the  foam-topped  breakers  came  rolling  sullenly  in. 
When  at  last  they  turned  through  the  gate,  and  went 
slowly  up  the  rough  road  —  marked  out  with  white 


THROUGH  THE   MILL  329 

stakes  —  which  led  up  to  the  tower,  the  dawn  had  actually 
come,  the  night  was  a  thing  of  the  past,  although  its 
shadow  seemed  to  hang  low  over  the  gray  land.  The  sea 
had  been  lately  over  the  rough  road,  and  progress  was 
difficult.  At  last,  though,  they  reached  the  little  bank 
of  shingle  on  which  the  tower  was  built,  and  Deane,  with 
a  little  sigh  of  relief,  stepped  wearily  down.  While  his 
servant  unlocked  the  front  door  and  busied  himself 
arranging  a  bed  and  lighting  a  fire,  Deane  walked  down 
to  the  edge  of  the  sea,  whose  white-topped  waves  were 
dragging  back  the  shingle  as  they  fell  and  broke,  with  a 
dull,  grinding  noise.  Never,  it  seemed  to  him,  had  the 
beauty  of  loneliness  appealed  to  him  more  strongly  than 
at  this  hour  of  dawn.  The  birds  were  silent,  the  wind 
had  fallen,  there  was  no  sound  whatever  from  the  sleeping 
land.  Only  the  eternal  breaking  of  the  waves  continued  — 
a  sound  which  was  more  like  the  background  for  stillness, 
grim  and  mysterious,  inevitable  as  existence  itself.  Far 
away  now  seemed  that  crowded  court,  with  its  eager 
faces,  its  rapt  issues,  —  far  away  seemed  the  importance 
of  wealth,  the  great  question  whether  he  should  remain 
amongst  the  millionaires  —  the  world  buyers,  or  take  his 
place  amongst  the  poor  men  of  the  earth.  What  did  it 
matter,  after  all,  this  kingship  of  the  cities,  with  their 
lack  of  perspective,  their  crowded  hours,  their  strange, 
artificial  atmosphere?  The  value  of  these  things  was 


330  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

grotesque,  for  a  moment,  —  distorted.  He  had  been  wise 
to  come  here,  he  told  himself,  as  a  breath  of  the  morning 
wind  stole,  faint  and  fresh,  across  the  salt  sea.  Perhaps 
he  would  be  wiser  still  if  he  defied  fortune  and  stayed 
here  always. 

His  servant  summoned  him,  and  he  went  reluctantly 
indoors.  He  ate  some  biscuits  and  drank  some  milk. 
Then,  as  the  real  dawn  broke  over  the  sea,  a  fiery  red,  and 
with  many  suggestions  of  troubled  weather  in  its  angry 
glow,  he  opened  the  window  and  threw  himself  upon  the 
little  iron  bedstead  with  its  lavender-scented  sheets. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ALL    AS    IT    SHOULD    BE 

THERE  was  one  person  in  London  who  knew  Deane's 
whereabouts,  and  from  him  there  came  no  word. 
To  Deane  himself  there  seemed  something  unreal  about 
the  long  hours  which  he  spent  in  solitude,  wandering  along 
the  sea  front,  following  the  sands  left  by  the  receding  tide, 
—  himself  a  lonely  figure  on  the  great  gray  plain.  A  storm 
of  rain  once  blew  in  from  the  sea,  but  mostly  the  day  was 
still  and  colorless.  To  Deane,  after  the  long  hours  in  the 
crowded  courts,  his  directors'  meetings,  his  self-imposed 
mask  of  ease  and  confidence,  the  relief  of  this  absolute 
solitude  was  immeasurable.  It  was  just  the  season  of  the 
year  when  nature  and  those  who  minister  to  her  seem 
alike  to  sleep.  It  was  too  early  for  any  thought  of  spring; 
the  storms  of  autumn  lay  behind.  A  certain  quietness 
seemed  to  hang  over  the  land,  as  though,  indeed,  sea  and 
resisting  sands  were  exhausted  with  the  long  struggle  of 
the  winter. 

Towards  afternoon  came  some  few  moments  of  flicker- 
ing sunlight.    Deane  sat  on  a  wooden  bar  on  the  top  of 


332  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

one  of  the  dykes,  and  above  his  head  a  lark  was  singing, 
a  little  timidly,  a  little  doubtful,  even,  of  his  lonely  music, 
but  still  lending  a  note  of  real  life  to  the  still,  gray  world 
over  which  he  hovered.  Deane  looked  at  the  queer  stone 
tower  on  its  bank  of  shingle,  and  blessed  the  chance  which 
had  led  him  to  purchase  it.  He  looked  inland  to  the  little 
red-tiled  village,  to  the  deserted  quay,  from  which  all  the 
fishing-boats  had  been  dragged  high  and  dry  along  the 
straight  line  of  raised  dyke  which  formed  the  footpath 
between  him  and  the  village.  As  he  looked,  he  became 
conscious  that  someone  had  started  out  from  the  village 
along  the  dyke  top.  Far  away  at  the  other  end  he  could 
see  a  slowly  approaching  figure.  His  heart  gave  a  little 
beat.  Was  it  a  messenger  at  last,  coming  to  bring  him 
his  fate  ?  He  looked  up  again  to  where  the  lark  was  sing- 
ing. It  seemed,  after  all,  so  small  a  thing!  Nearer  and 
nearer  the  figure  came,  near  enough,  at  last,  for  Deane 
to  be  able  to  distinguish  something  of  its  outline.  Then 
he  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  quick  indrawn  breath  —  a  little 
cry  of  surprise  to  which  there  was  no  one  to  listen.  For 
this  was  no  messenger  from  the  village  coming.  It  was  a 
girl  in  a  long  gray  cloak,  and  a  hat  which  she  carried  in 
her  hand,  as  though  the  fresh  salt  air  of  the  marshes  was 
something  also  to  her.  Deane  saw  the  neatly  arranged 
brown  hair  blown  into  confusion  about  her  face.  Against 
the  empty  background  he  recognized  the  poise  of  her 


ALL  AS   IT  SHOULD   BE  333 

head,  the  firm  but  delicate  walk,  the  slender,  swaying 
figure.  He  knew  who  it  was  that  came,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  from  that  moment  he  knew,  too,  other  things! 
His  sense  of  proportions  was  suddenly  shifted,  —  en- 
larged, perhaps,  —  altered  certainly.  He  understood 
things  which  before  had  been  mysteries  to  him.  He 
understood,  as  though  in  some  moment  of  inspiration, 
that  riches  or  poverty,  life,  even,  or  death,  are  the  inci- 
dents of  life  before  its  greatest  truths.  Nothing  that  he 
could  think  of  seemed  able  to  hold  his  thoughts.  His 
heart  was  beating  to  music,  the  lark  was  singing  to  him  a 
song  of  her  own  —  singing  in  weak,  tremulous  notes  a 
song  of  life  and  love  and  passion !  He  rose  to  his  feet  and 
went  to  meet  her.  She  stopped  short  and  faltered  for  a 
moment.  He  hurried  on. 

"  Winifred ! "  he  exclaimed. 

She  held  out  her  hands.  Her  eyebrows  were  upraised, 
her  mouth  was  quivering,  her  eyes  were  seeking  his  with 
a  sort  of  plaintive  earnestness.  "It  is  true,  then!"  she 
exclaimed.  "  You  are  really  here ! " 

"I  am  really  here,"  he  answered,  "and  it  is  really  you! 
Nothing  else  seems  to  matter  very  much,  —  and  yet,  I 
would  like  to  know  why  you  alone,  of  all  the  world,  should 
have  discovered  my  hiding  place." 

She  laughed,  and  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  still  holding  her  hands.  "I  have  been  ill," 


334  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

she  said.  "I  came  down  here  to  rest.  Last  night  I  heard 
in  the  village  that  you  had  arrived,  that  you  were  here 
alone.  I  knew  then,"  she  continued  softly,  "what  had 
happened.  I  felt  that  I  must  come,  if  it  was  only  for  a 
few  moments." 

"It  was  very  nice  of  you,"  he  said. 

Then  they  stood  side  by  side  in  a  silence  charged  with 
a  sort  of  impotent  passion.  Why  had  she  troubled  to 
come,  he  wondered,  now  that  the  bubble  of  his  wealth  was 
burst,  —  she,  who  had  held  him  to  her  cold-blooded  com- 
pact, who  had  bound  him  to  her  by  as  sordid  a  bargain  as 
ever  the  mind  of  woman  could  have  conceived. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  "and  yet  I  don't  know 
why.  You  did  not  hesitate  to  leave  me  without  word  of 
you,  as  soon  as  you  saw  the  breakers  ahead." 

She  drew  a  little  away,  looking  at  him  as  though  she 
had  only  half  understood.  "When  I  lost  the  bond  by 
which  I  held  you,"  she  said,  "I  could  scarcely  expect  you 
to  continue  to  pay.  I  have  thought  it  all  over  since,  until 
I  think  that  I  have  drunk  in  all  the  shame  which  a  woman 
could  feel.  It  was  a  hateful,  miserable  thing,  but  then  my 
life  has  been  a  hateful,  miserable  thing  ever  since  I  was  a 
child,  and  I  did  long,  yes,  I  did  long,"  she  added  fervently, 
"for  something  a  little  different." 

"You  disappeared,  then,"  he  said  slowly,  "because  you 
imagined,  naturally  enough,  that  so  soon  as  you  had  lost 


ALL  AS   IT  SHOULD   BE  335 

your  hold  upon  me,  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to  free  my- 
self from  our  engagement?" 

"Of  course,"  she  answered,  the  color  slowly  staining 
her  cheeks.  "There  was  no  doubt  whatever  about  that. 
Only  since  then  I  have  understood  how  great  a  mistake  I 
made.  If  things  had  turned  out  differently,"  she  con- 
tinued, "I  should  never  have  dared  to  come  to  you,  to  tell 
you  this  and  to  ask  for  your  forgiveness.  But  as  it  is,"  she 
added,  "you  cannot  misunderstand  me  any  longer,  can 
you?" 

"I  suppose  not,"  he  admitted. 

"I  wanted  to  come  and  tell  you  that  I  was  sorry,"  she 
continued  softly,  "and  I  wanted,  too,  to  remind  you  that 
you  are  still  young,  and  that  the  loss  of  a  fortune  is  not  the 
most  terrible  thing  in  the  world.  I  heard  yesterday  that 
you  were  out  upon  Salthouse  Neck,  close  to  the  quick- 
sands. You  know  it  is  never  safe  there,  with  these  winter 
tides.  Life  is  not  a  thing  to  be  trifled  with.  It  may  seem 
terrible  to  you  just  now  to  have  lost  your  great  fortune, 
to  be  once  more  a  poor  man.  These  things,  after  all, 
don't  count  for  much  against  the  gift  of  life.  I  know  it 
sounds  like  humbug  to  hear  me  talk  like  this,  but  they 
were  gossiping  about  you  in  the  village.  One  man  was 
saying  that  he  should  n't  be  at  all  surprised  to  hear  that 
you  had  disappeared,  and  to  find  —  to  find  —  "  she  added, 
with  a  little  shiver,  "your  body  come  up  the  creek  with 


336  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

the  next  tide.  You  would  n't  do  anything  like  that,  would 
you?" 

"Not  a  ghost  of  a  chance  of  it,"  he  answered  cheerily. 
"Besides,  I  am  not  quite  a  pauper  yet." 

"You  have  lost  the  case,  haven't  you?"  she  asked 
quickly.  "They  seemed  to  think  so  in  the  village,  and  I 
heard  that  Mr.  Sarsby  said  his  niece  had  come  into  a 
million  pounds." 

"Up  till  last  night,  at  any  rate,"  answered  Deane, 
"nothing  was  decided.  The  judge  reserved  his  decision." 

"Then  why,"  she  asked  wonderingly,  "did  you  come 
down  here?" 

He  drew  her  a  little  closer  to  him,  and  looked  into  her 
eyes.  "I  think,  dear,"  he  said,  "that  it  was  Providence 
which  sent  me." 

They  walked  along  the  sands,  and  for  them  the  sun 
shone  still,  and  the  song  of  the  lark  was  only  the  faint 
echo  of  a  still  more  wonderful  music.  And  then,  as  they 
turned  back,  they  saw  along  the  dyke  a  boy  riding  a  bicycle, 
a  boy  with  a  leather  satchel  around  his  waist,  and  the  rim 
of  whose  bicycle  was  red.  He  pressed  her  arm. 

"Courage,  dear,"  he  said.  "This  is  the  Mercury  who 
brings  us  the  knowledge  of  our  fate.  In  a  few  moments 
you  will  know  whether  you  are  to  become  the  wife  of  a 
millionaire  or  a  working  man." 


ALL  AS  IT  SHOULD   BE  337 

"If  you  would  only  believe,"  she  murmured,  "how  little 
it  matters ! " 

"I  do  believe,"  he  answered.  "I  came  down  here,  for 
one  reason,  to  escape  the  shock  of  hearing  the  news  be- 
fore others.  Now  that  it  comes,  I  simply  do  not  mind. 
There  are  greater  things  in  the  world  than  the  Little 
Anna  Gold-Mine!" 

He  took  the  telegram  from  the  boy,  and  opened  it  with 
firm  fingers.  He  read  it  out  aloud  without  a  tremor : 

Counsel  met  in  judge's  private  room  by  appointment  to- 
day. Have  compromised  with  plaintiffs  twenty  thousand 
pounds. 

Deane  threw  a  coin  to  the  boy,  who  remounted  his 
bicycle  and  rode  away.  Then,  turning  to  Winifred, 
"You  see,"  he  said,  "you  have  brought  me  luck." 

"I  only  pray,"  she  murmured,  as  they  turned  together 
toward  the  tower,  "  that  I  may  bring  you  happiness ! " 

Deane  met  Mrs.  Hefferom  a  few  months  afterwards, 
and  was  struck  at  once  by  her  altered  expression.  They 
came  face  to  face  at  the  corner  of  a  street,  and  both  in- 
voluntarily stopped. 

"I  hope,"  said  Deane,  politely,  "that  you  are  making 
good  use  of  my  money." 


338  THE  GOLDEN  WEB 

"And  I  hope,"  she  answered,  laughing,  "that  you  are 
making  more  fortunes  from  my  mine." 

"I  am  doing  fairly  well,  thank  you,"  Deane  admitted, 
"  but  you  know  that  I  have  a  wife  to  keep  now." 

"And  I  a  husband,"  she  answered.  "I  am  trying  to 
reform  Stephen  Hefferom." 

"I  hope  that  you  are  succeeding?" 

"On  the  whole,  yes !"  she  declared,  smiling.  "We  live 
at  Streatham,  and  he  goes  in  to  the  city  every  day.  He 
has  bought  a  share  in  a  business.  We  are  not  millionaires 
yet,  but  one  never  can  tell." 

"At  any  rate,"  he  remarked  pleasantly,  "to  judge  by 
your  appearance  I  should  say  that  you  find  it  better  than 
Rakney." 

"Don't  mention  the  place,  or  any  one  in  it,"  she  said, 
with  a  shiver.  "Thank  Heaven,  I  shall  never  have  to  go 
back  to  it!  Stephen  is  really  doing  very  well,  and  half 
the  money  is  still  settled  upon  me.  You  have  no  idea," 
she  continued,  "how  domesticity  has  agreed  with  him. 
He  has  scarcely  a  vice  left." 

"It  has  made  a  lot  of  difference  to  me,"  returned  Deane. 
''Can't  you  recognize  my  subdued  appearance?" 

"I  never  saw  you  looking  so  well,"  she  answered  frankly. 
"Now  I  must  hurry  off.  I  am  going  to  call  for  my  hus- 
band and  take  him  to  lunch." 

"And  I  am  going  to  fetch  my  wife  for  the  same  reason," 


ALL  AS   IT  SHOULD   BE  339 

Deane  answered,  smiling.     "The  best  of  luck  to  you 
both!" 

They  parted  in  the  crowd,  swept  away  by  the  flood,  the 
endless  tide  of  passing  humanity,  and  with  a  smile  upon 
his  lips  Deane  went  to  his  appointment. 


THE    END 


"Mystery  upon  mystery" 


PASSERS-BY 


By   ANTHONY    PARTRIDGE 

Author  of  "  The  Kingdom  of  Earth,"  etc. 
Illustrated.  Cloth,  $1.50 


Has  the  merit  of  engaging  the  reader's  attention  at  once 
and  holding  it  to  the  end.  —  New  York  Sun. 

It  is  exciting,  is  plausibly  and  cleverly  written,  and  is 
not  devoid  of  a  love  motive.  —  Chicago  Examiner. 

It  can  be  heartily  recommended  to  those  who  enjoy  a 
novel  with  a  good  plot,  entertaining  characters,  and  one 
which  is  carefully  written.  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

One  of  the  most  fascinating  mystery  stories  of  recent 
years,  a  tale  that  catches  the  attention  at  the  beginning 
and  tightens  the  grip  of  its  hold  with  the  turn  of  its 
pages.  —  Boston  Globe. 

A  mysterious  story  in  which  nearly  all  the  personages 
are  as  much  puzzled  as  the  reader  and  a  detective  en- 
counters a  unique  surprise.  Originality  is  the  most  striking 
characteristic  of  the  personages.  —  New  York  Times. 

The  first  chapter  compels  the  absorbed  interest  of  the 
reader  and  lays  the  groundwork  for  a  thrilling  tale  in 
which  mystery  follows  upon  mystery  through  a  series  of 
dramatic  situations  and  surprises.  —  Philadelphia  Press. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &   CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


An  absorbing  novel  of  a  great  London  mystery 


THE  DISTRIBUTORS 


By  ANTHONY  PARTRIDGE 

12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


A  story  of  decided  dramatic  power.  —  Chicago  Journal. 
Written  in  striking  brilliant  style.  —  New  York  World. 

A  good  mystery  story  which  is  worth  reading.  —  Detroit 
News. 

The  story  is  developed  with  much  cleverness.  —  New 
York  Times. 

A  remarkable  novel  of  fashionable  English  life.  —  New 

York  Bookseller. 

One  of  the  season's  most  fascinating  books.  Almost 
every  character  is  unusual.  —  Cleveland  Town  Topics. 

A  peculiar  but  fascinating  novel.  The  author  wields  a 
powerful  pen  and  this  story  will  produce  a  profound 
impression.  —  Buffalo  Courier. 

The  author  offers  a  diversion  quite  unparalleled  in  fiction 
in  the  doings  of  a  polite  and  exclusive  circle  known  as 
"The  Ghosts."  —  Book  Review  Digest. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


A  dashing  tale  of  love  and  adventure 


THE 
KINGDOM  OF  EARTH 


By  ANTHONY  PARTRIDGE 

Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Wenzell.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


The  characters  are  strongly  drawn  and  there  is  an 
absorbing  love  theme.  —  Pittsburg  Post. 

Reaches  thrilling  climaxes  and  always  keeps  the  reader's 
interest  whetted  to  a  razor's  edge.  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

A  swinging,  dashing  story  full  of  the  excitement  that 
keeps  the  reader  on  the  qui  oive.  —  Cincinnati  Commercial 
Tribune. 

With  a  distinctly  novel  and  ingenious  plot,  one  involving 
enough  of  intrigue  and  adventure  to  satisfy  the  most 
exacting.  —  San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

Full  of  adventure,  this  dashing  romance  of  a  European 
Crown  Prince  and  a  talented  American  girl  moves  to  its 
climax  in  baffling  mysteries.  — Baltimore  American. 

More  virile  than  the  Zenda  books  and  their  imitators. 
.  .  .  Mr.  Partridge's  central  idea  is  a  novel  one  and  he  has 
worked  it  out  skillfully,  leading  the  reader  on  from  chapter 
to  chapter  with  new  complication  and  mysteries  and  perils 
and  adventures  growing  more  and  more  exciting.  —  New 
York  Times. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


A  story  of  contemporary  American  life 


THE 
MAN  AND  THE  DRAGON 


By  ALEXANDER   OTIS 

Author  of  "  Hearts  are  Trumps,"  etc. 
Illustrations  by  J.  V.  McFall.     Cloth.     $1.50 


A  NOVELIST  who  can  hold  the  interest  equally  of 
-£*~  both  women  and  men  is  an  exception.  Mr.  Otis' 
first  book,  "  Hearts  are  Trumps,"  brought  him  into  promi- 
nence as  a  writer  of  fiction,  disclosing  as  it  did  a  new 
American  author  who  possesses  the  narrative  faculty  and 
the  dramatic  instinct. 

In  his  new  book,  "  The  Man  and  the  Dragon,"  Mr.  Otis 
has  written  an  even  stronger  story  of  contemporary 
American  life.  Through  the  center  of  his  plot  runs  the 
glinting  gold  thread  of  a  charming  love  story,  strong, 
dramatic,  virile.  The  groundwork  depicts  the  struggle  of 
the  young  editor  of  the  Carthage  News  against  a  political 
boss  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  ring  of  traction  magnates  on 
the  other,  unfolding  with  telling  penetration  and  grasp  one 
of  the  most  vital  problems  facing  this  country  to-day. 

Those  who  have  followed  recent  political  events  will 
find  the  defeat  of  political  manipulators  in  congressional 
districts  reflected  in  "  The  Man  and  the  Dragon." 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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ll  0  1998 

)ATt  KtCElVED 


DUE^l 

-v 


3  1158  01104  2230 


A     000130094     6 


